


Living In The Yesterday

by Waskets



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, F/F, Post-Volume 2 (RWBY)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-25
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2020-01-25 20:32:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 144,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18582073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waskets/pseuds/Waskets
Summary: When the world falls, heroes save it. When heroes fall, they pick themselves up. When good falls, it rises again to face evil.Except, maybe good and evil aren't quite so simple. Maybe rising again isn't so simple. Maybe the world isn't so simple.Maybe, this time, Yang is going to have to learn these lessons, the hard way. Maybe she's going to need some help.Maybe Neo could learn to live again, too.





	1. Living

Prelude: The Witch’s Castle 

_“Curses, curses! Somebody always helps that girl. Shoes or no shoes._ _I_ _'m still great enough to conquer her._

_And woe to those who try to stop me!”_

  


**I**

**_Living_ **

**_— — —_ **

_“It’s too bad she won’t live. But then again, who does?”_

_— — —_

“That one— she will be important.”

“Which? The red, young one?

“No. Ozpin’s chosen is a danger, but she can be dealt with.”

“Who, then?”

“The golden one.”

“Her? Why?”

“Ozpin thinks that innocence is a weapon that he can use against us. The truth is, innocence is no more dangerous than a broken dagger.”

“A broken dagger can still cut.”

“That it can. But with proper preparation, all it will take is one swift movement to render it useless.”

“So what about the yellow girl, then? What’s so dangerous about her?”

“It’s not that she is a danger, precisely.”

“Then what?”

Salem sat silently for a moment, looking over the reflecting pool. Her pale skin and hair were luminous in the murky darkness of the castle. Her slender, black-veined fingers tapped lightly on her cheek, a gentle scratching noise of her long fingernails against her flesh faintly audible. She leaned back in her obsidian throne, staring down. The silence dragged, bending the short seconds into long ones. Finally, she spoke, not moving her black and crimson eyes off of the yellow-haired beauty laughing in the reflecting pool.

“She’s a wildfire. Not one that can simply be doused by water, either.” She watched as the girl spoke to her friends, smiling with childlike glee. “And a flame like that could consume much, if not properly cared to.”

Spreading her gray lips, her stern stare melted to a soft, pleased smile. In the dim glow, she almost looked proud, like a parent.

“Who it consumes, however… we may have some say in that.”

“I…” Watts started, scratching his thick mustache. He looked down at the blonde, then back up to Salem. Something about the way she smiled left his skin crawling.

Eventually, he finished speaking. Salem didn’t hear him, though. Her focus remained on the girl. He left, at some point or another. Preparations would be made, and the other lieutenants would need to be updated. Cinder and her team in the field would need it the most imminently, he would suppose. Tyrian would be excited by the new plan. And Hazel— Hazel would follow, at the very least. But that didn’t matter right now. Salem was thinking. Imagining. Playing games in her mind with the girl on the other side of her looking glass— with Yang. And her smile remained so horribly gentle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've finally decided to write my first legit fic. I enjoy RWBY, I enjoy fanfiction, and I enjoy writing, so it's kind of surprising it took me this long. This is just the short prologue to what I hope to make a long term work. I have a good chunk planned ahead, and I hope I can keep it coming. 
> 
> In case you can't tell, this is a pretty Yang-centric fic. It's pretty Neo-focused as well, in case you missed that in the summary. Things may or may not get a little dark, but I'm not a fan of spoiling through tags so if you're curious then you'll just have to wait and see.
> 
> Anyhow, I'm open to feedback and comments. I'd be interested in hearing what anyone has to say about this. I'd like to continue it regardless of the reaction it gets, but it would probably be helpful- and motivating- if I know there's interest. Either way, read however much you like- and of course, enjoy.


	2. First Sights

Prologue: The Golden Beacon 

_“You can't be careful on a skateboard.”_

 

 **II**  

**_First Sights_ **

— — —  

_“She was not a believer in love at first sight, although she_

_did believe that instant lust occurred frequently.”_

— — —

It was a good day.

It was a Saturday, there were no classes, the sun was out, foreign students were arriving for the Vytal festival, and autumn was just young enough for the leaves to be pretty while still being on their branches. And of course, Yang was happy. Meaning that by default, it was going to be a good day. No matter what.

It was still early, too. Plenty of time for things to get even better. That also meant that there was time for things to go poorly, as well, but Yang didn’t like to think like that. If you had asked her, she didn’t even know how to think like that. She would stare at you, with her mouth in a vague ‘O’ shape and her brow scrunched, and then, after several moments of aching silence, she would say, “What?” And that would be that. You might think she was a bit slow after it happened, but if you said that out loud she probably would give you five or ten reasons to take it back. You’d certainly put a hamper on her good day for the moment, though. But would it really be worth it?

The truth was that she did know how to think that way, obviously. But she actively chose not too, because that made her unhappy. And would it surprise you she didn’t like to be unhappy? There was a reason she was out early, smiling in the gentle 9 A.M. glow, with her weary and tired teammates shuffling behind her on their way to the dining halls of Beacon. And that reason was most definitely not so that she could feel unhappy, even while her little sister moaned at her endlessly.

“Yang, why did you drag us out here?” Ruby stretched each word as long as she could.

“It’s a beautiful day, Ruby!” Yang was beaming, giving the sun a run for its money. “You really think I’m gonna let you sleepy heads waste it all in bed?”

“But I’m tired!”

“Well, whose fault is that?”

“I think it’s yours, actually,” Weiss yawned. “Something about night time being prime time if I recall?”

“Who, me?” Yang played dumb.

“Yes, you,” Weiss rolled her eyes. “Though I’m not sure a proper sleep schedule agrees with the sentiment.”

“Well, I was right, then.” Yang kept bouncing along the path as she spoke. “You can sleep when your dead, girls! Right now’s for living!”

“Then I’ll take one dead, please,” Ruby muttered to no one in particular.

“How positively cliche of you, Yang,” Weiss said.

“Well, she’s not boring, I suppose,” Blake finally stepped in.

“Well, I don’t know what cliche means,” Yang kept speaking without turning, “and I definitely don’t know what boring means!”

“Boring just happens to be preferable, right now,” Weiss sighed.

“Agreed.” Blake sounded annoyed, but she also couldn’t help the faint smile she was wearing.

Yang threw her hand up and signaled for silence, still blazing along with admirable purpose.

“Enough chit-chat. We have to try and do things while we can. What, am I supposed to waste one of the last free, sunny days left before winter?” Yang spoke in the best kingly voice she could muster. “No! There are things to be done!”

Ruby raised an eyebrow.

“What things?”

“Things!” Yang shouted back. “Now c’mon. Breakfast awaits!”

And so she led on, pushing straight through all distractions, teeth shining for all to see while the warm sun turned her hair to a blanket of burning gold. All the while her team followed, with baggy eyes and a distinct desire to climb back in bed.

 

— — —  

 

School food was never ideal, but it was always better than nothing. And right now, Yang was content with any food. As long as it filled their bellies and shut their mouths, it would be enough. It would be a much easier time getting her teammates with food to do something fun that it would be getting her teammates sans food to do something fun. Because they were _going_ to do something, and it was _going_ to be fun. Because they were _going_ to have a good day. Her friends just didn’t know it yet.

Yang knew. She just didn’t know what kind of good day it would be. Yet.

“This meat thing is always so gross,” Ruby hadn’t quit her groaning. “What even is it?”

“I think it’s supposed to be sausage,” Blake said.

“Blegh,” Ruby stuck her tongue out. “No sausage I’ve ever seen. Why can’t they just have waffles or something?”

Yang ignored her sister. She stood with her tray, surveying for the right table. She considered her options; Center or side? Get a window or be closer to other groups? Sit at an empty table or one with a party? There were quite a few students she didn’t recognize, who she only assumed could be visitors for the Vytal festival. She scanned them for a moment, then noticed one little group in particular.

“I don’t see Jaune and the gang up so early,” Ruby continued her complaining. “Do you?”

“Probably because they like to sleep,” Weiss glanced at Yang. “Though I wouldn’t call Jaune the epitome of leadership. So maybe Yang’s onto something.”

“Onto something my—”

“Ruby,” Yang cut her off, pointing to a table. “Those are the kids you ran into in the hall, right?”

Ruby looked over to where Yang was pointing, and her face went red.

“Y-yes…” She trailed off and looked away.

Sitting at a table a few rows down, mostly separated from any other party, was a group of three students eating their breakfast. On one side of the table was a boy with gray clothes and silver hair chewing cereal loudly. Opposite him was a mint-haired girl wearing a rather revealing outfit, eating a fruit bowl quietly. She kept glancing to her left at the third member— the raven-haired girl that Ruby had run into. That she had _literally_ run into.

Then, as if she knew they were being watched, the dark-haired looked up, her eyes met Ruby’s directly.

Ruby groaned and tried to hide behind nothing in particular, “Dammit, she sees me! Yang, do something!”

“Let’s go sit with them,” Yang responded quickly, grabbing her sister by the wrist and making a beeline for the visiting students.

“What?! No, Yang!” Ruby tried to resist her pull and yell as quietly as possible, resulting in a perfectly audible whisper. “We don’t even know them! Don’t make me sit with them!”

“C’mon, Ruby,” Yang brushed her off. “It’s not that big a deal.”

“I doubt they even remember, Ruby,” Blake tried to reassure.

“I would,” Weiss said, almost proudly.

“Weiss,” Yang stuck a finger at her, without looking back. “Not helping.”

“I’m kidding!” She wasn’t.

“Yang, please! It’s embarrassing!” Ruby continued to struggle, to no avail. Yang was dragging her along, while Weiss and Blake followed close behind.

“Oh, come one!” Yang kept on pulling, grinning madly as she went. “You gotta learn to make new friends at some point!”

“Yeah, that’s why I made friends with you guys,” Ruby protested. “So I wouldn’t have to make new ones anymore!”

“She has a point,” Blake shrugged, still following along anyway.

“God, you guys are the worst motivators ever!” Yang threw her head back dramatically as she spoke. “It’s just one breakfast, stop being so whiny!”

And with that, it was settled. Within seconds they were at the table, with its occupants looking over at them. Yang threw herself into the open spot, beside the gray-haired boy and across from the dark-haired girl, who, admittedly, looked substantially more like a woman than a girl.

“Hiya!” Yang was a bag of smiles, and she was giving them away for free. “Are you guys exchange students?”

The minty girl winced from the volume, though Yang didn’t notice that. The rest of her team took their seats a bit more calmly, on the opposite side of the new party.

“Mind if we join you?” Weiss asked.

“Free country, apparently,” the gray boy shrugged.

“Which school are you guys from?” Yang continued, not noticing how her voice rang across the dining halls. “Atlas? You seem like Atlas types.”

“Haven, actually,” the dark-haired woman-girl spoke in a soft, sultry voice.

“Yeah, that was my next guess,” Yang waved off. “We’re team RWBY, by the way. Coolest team at Beacon.”

“She’s very humble,” Weiss stepped in.

“Hush,” Yang shushed her and pointed at Ruby. “That’s Ruby, our team leader.”

“Yang!” Ruby started.

“The one in the bow is Blake,” Yang ignored her sister and shifted to Weiss and Blake. “And the buzzkill is Weiss.”

“Hey!” Weiss protested.

“And I,” Yang leaned back proudly and put her thumb to her chest. “Am Yang Xiao Long, coolest member of the coolest team.”

She held her pose for a moment, then leaned forward again.

“So who are you guys?”

“Smooth,” Blake said.

The dark-haired woman smiled suavely and gave a faint chuckle. “Names Cinder. Cinder Fall.”

“Mercury,” the gray boy said. “Merc works as well, I guess.”

“Emerald,” the minty girl yawned.

“Cool,” Yang said, and glanced around. “So where’s your 4th? Or do you guys only do teams of three or something?”

“Oh, she’s around… Just catching up with us,” Cinder replied. “Getting food now, I believe.”

“Oh, cool,” Yang nodded. “So where you guys from? Originally, I mean.”

“Atlas. Originally.” There was something mysterious about the way Cinder smiled. Yang couldn’t tell if she liked it or if it scared her. Or both.

“Oh, really? So am I,” Weiss leaned in. “Which part?”

“I don’t really know, if I’m being honest,” Cinder answered. “I was only born there. It’s not where I grew up.”

“Oh,” Weiss sat back again.

“What about you guys?” Yang looked at the other two.

“The mountains,” Mercury talked through a mouthful of cereal, before swallowing. “Just outside of Mistral.”

“Vale,” Emerald answered shortly.

“Oh, sweet,” Yang turned to Emerald. “Where in? Me and Rubes are from right outside Vale.”

“Glass district.”

Weiss and Blake furrowed their brows.

“What district?” Weiss shook her head.

“You live in a glass-making region?” Blake asked.

“No, they call it that because it’s been destroyed so many times,” Yang answered without turning. “The Grand Storms, the Great War, a couple of Grimm break-ins, so on. Has a reputation for being kind of a rough area, doesn’t it?”

“It’s—” Emerald started to roll her eyes, then faltered. “Yeah… that’s actually all right.”

Emerald stared at Yang for a moment, squinting slightly. Her scarlet eyes went up and down, scanning and measuring. Yang could tell she was being reevaluated, and she shrugged.

“Yeah, I’m actually not as dumb as you probably think,” she answered the unasked question. “I just like talking a lot, so I’m bound to get more wrong than I get right.”

Emerald stared at her for another moment and then cocked an eyebrow. “That’s surprisingly profound.”

Yang shrugged again. “If you say so.”

The group of them sat quietly for a short bit, simply eating their food. Yang didn’t think too deeply about it. They seemed nice enough, if a bit socially awkward. She figured everyone else was mulling over whether they liked their new acquaintances, but she didn’t bother. The truth was that it didn’t take much to make Yang like someone. So long as they would speak, she figured they were good enough to talk to. They might have their quirks, but it’s not like Yang didn’t have her own. Typically, she really wasn’t one to judge that harshly. And they could speak, even if Emerald didn’t seem like she really wanted to. Sooner or later they’d call each other friends, and Yang was sure of that. It was just a matter of time.

“So…” Yang decided it was time to break the silence, but she was interrupted.

“There she is,” Cinder looked up, past Yang. “Took your time, didn’t you?”

Yang turned and almost spit out her drink.

“Are you okay?” Apparently, somebody noticed, although Yang wasn’t sure who at the table was asking. She was a bit distracted at the moment.

Yang had seen pretty people before. Hell, she’d seen some pretty hot people in her days. She’d been attracted to her fair share of people, but usually she didn’t think too much of it. She prided herself on the fact that most of the time, people were approaching her rather than the other way around. Humble wasn’t exactly her style, and she knew hotness when she saw it. Even when it was herself. And for all of the sexy, cute, and beautiful people she’d seen across her eventful, albeit short life up to this moment, no one had ever so much as made her stutter.

Until now.

Turning in her chair, Yang came face to face with the most terrifyingly adorable girl she’d ever seen in her entire life. And face to face was not an exaggeration, either. This new girl was certifiably tiny, so much so that she stood barely taller than a seated Yang. She was beyond small. Sub-five foot for sure. Yang had heard of naturally smaller people, but she was pretty sure the only people she’d ever actually _seen_ that small were children. This girl was certainly no child, though. The girl was thin and small-framed, but it was hard not to notice that she was certainly developed in other ways that made Yang blush even harder.

Across the next few seconds, which felt like hours, she couldn’t help but just stare at her. Pitch black hair in pigtails, jade green eyes, and that smirk. That smug, cocky little smirk. There was something eerily familiar about it, along with the rest of the girl, but she didn’t think too long on it because it was a little hard to concentrate. Suddenly she was wondering who turned the heat up so far.

It took an immense force of willpower as well as a few more moments of awkward, awkward, oh so awkward silence, but finally, Yang was able to swallow and come back to reality.

“H-hey, I’m Yang…”

The girl just kept on smirking.

Yang glanced to either side. “Do you wanna… I mean, a—  a seat, or—”

The girl, still smirking, simply moved forward silently, and plopped down onto the bench. She sat on Yang's right— literally, as in she sat directly pressed up against Yang’s right side, squeezing her closer towards the center, until she was just a few inches shy of touching Mercury.

“Um…” Yang turned back to her food, suddenly not very hungry.

“Oh, this is Polly, by the way,” Cinder started. “She doesn’t really talk, although she can still be… expressive.”

Yang glanced to her side at the girl— at Polly— who was still just smirking. Then she looked away. And then she glanced at her again. Every time she looked at her, she immediately forced herself to look away. And every time she looked away, she had to battle herself not to instantly go back to staring at Polly again. Yang was now starting to think that it was going to be a very long breakfast.

“I think she’s taken a liking to you, in particular…” Cinder added a little hot flair at the end, and for a moment, Yang wasn’t actually sure which one of them she was talking to.

Maybe Yang wasn’t going to have so much say in today’s happenings, after all.

Still, today was a  _very_ good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter, which is really kind of the first chapter because the actual first one was kind of tiny. Hopefully getting into the actual story will help get things interesting soon, but believe me that things are going to get pretty drastically different pretty quickly. There are just a few chapters before I can start that.
> 
> Also, shout out to anyone who can identify all the quotes. Every larger part, like the prelude and prologue, will start with one, and every chapter within those will start with one. They're from all over the place, and I'll probably put a list of where each one is from at some point or another. Maybe at the end, or at least at the end of each greater section. For now, it'll just be some kind of guessing game.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave any feedback or ask any questions. See you in the next one. Whenever that is.


	3. No Sweat

**III**

**_No Sweat_ **

— — —  

_“I'm actually really good at everything I do.”_

_— — —_

“Yang’s got a cru-ush!”

Team RWBY was walking down the hallway back to their dorm as the day came to a close. They had ended up spending the whole day with Cinder and her team after Yang insisted that they give them a tour of the campus. Blake and Weiss were mostly quiet, while Ruby was bouncing off the walls.

Yang, on the other hand, was completely— and uncharacteristically— silent. Watching the floor as she walked, her typically loud mouth was sealed at the lips.

“Yang’s got a cru-ush!” Ruby chanted her sing-song taunt again.

Yang just kept on walking. She was trying to hide the red in her cheeks. Meanwhile, in the back, Blake was hiding her blushes as well. A different kind of blush, of course.

“Wow, it is serious,” Ruby teased after a moment.

Yang still kept on walking. Weiss glanced at her, trying to read her expression. Then she turned to Ruby.

“Ruby, don’t you think you’re being a little childish?” She said.

“What?” Ruby said, mocking offense.

“She’s not even trying to defend herself.”

“Exactly!” Ruby pointed. “Something _has_ to be up. She’s got—”

“Ruby,” Weiss took her by the wrist and lowered her voice. “She’s embarrassed.”

“That’s the point—”

“Just let her be,” Weiss said as she stared at her. It wasn’t intimidating, but behind it, Ruby could feel the way it pierced through her like tissue paper. “Okay?”

Ruby swallowed, “Okay.”

During the distraction, Blake caught up to Yang and walked alongside her. She stole a sidelong glance for a moment, looking her up and down. Her posture, her hand motions, her eyes. As long as Blake had known her Yang had always liked to act unpredictable and wild, but she still had her consistencies. She had her tells, like everyone else.

Yang was a book, and Blake spent a lot of her time reading. This wasn’t a part of that book she had read before, though. This was something new, something unexpected. Something legitimately unpredictable. Which meant Ruby was right.

“So,” Blake started. “How did you like our new friends?”

Blake could figure people out pretty effectively, but trying to actually interact with them was a different story. Yang’s story, mostly. Sometime’s Weiss’.

“Fine, I guess…” Yang didn’t look up.

“They certainly were,” she paused to think. “…Interesting.”

“Yeah, they were nice…”

“Right,” Blake narrowed her eyes slightly. “Nice.”

Yang kept on walking silently. They were almost at the dorm by now, where the four of them were all going to be trapped in one room together. Blake didn’t have much time to try and get Yang to say something, and she knew it. She was perceptive, but she wasn’t much of a socializer. Especially when the other person was being more reserved than even Blake herself normally was.

“Did, uh… Did anyone seem ‘nice’ to you, in particular?” She regretted that question quickly.

“Um, I—” Yang blushed and stuttered. “I don’t— maybe, I— I don’t know.”

They were almost there. The door to their room was within seeing distance. _Think fast, Blake._

“Well, you know, you can always… talk to me, about stuff. Right?” She _definitely_ regretted that question quickly.

“Yeah, sure…”

Time’s up. Yang unlocked the door and they went inside all feeling different feelings. Ruby felt a giddy excitement for a new window of teasing. Weiss felt a hopefulness— and a tad bit of worry— for one of her friends. Blake felt like something heavy was sitting in her stomach.

And Yang, on the other hand, was just thinking about how she wished she got that girl’s number.

 

— — —  

 

Yang sat in silence, staring at the clock. The arms moved slowly, its longest hand ticking by sluggishly. It was like ocean tides; every time she looked away she would look back a moment later and swear that the hand had moved backward.

The professor droned on and on and on, but as torturously boring it was she couldn’t even fall asleep. She felt like she was being sedated and then force-fed caffeine the second it got to her. The _tappity-tappity-tap_ of her fingers on the desk was drawing a few stares from the people nearby, but at the very least it was keeping the rest of her body from twitching anxiously.

Yang had never done drugs before, aside from maybe drink a little, but she hoped for the sake of all the addicts out there that it was nothing like this.

The object of her torment was, of course, not actually the clock itself. Moreso what the clock represented. The cause of this all, the _real_ cause, was seated a few rows down below her, rocking her black hair in a ponytail rather than the pigtails she’d been wearing before.

Yang decided that she liked the ponytail better, then decided that she wanted to see it let down completely, then decided that she wanted to see some of the girl's  _other_ assets, _then_ finally decided that she was going to stop staring at her until class ended.

That proved difficult— no, it proved impossible, considering she was staring at her again.

 _Fuck_.

She looked back at the clock. It inched closer and closer to the coveted 2 o’clock, PM.

 _Just a few more minutes,_ she thought. _So close._

It was funny how the closer it got to close, the farther away close felt. As if somehow the last 3 minutes were the same length as all 72 of the ones before.

 _Come on,_ she pleaded. _Come on._

It was a water drop, slowly rolling down the inside of the bottle. It was coming to her, for sure, and her throat was dry and desperate. But it certainly didn’t _feel_ like it was moving. It rolled down, down, down, into the opening, down its side, onto the edge, drooping, dangling, stretching, until it finally broke free, splitting from its bonds and its ties to the bottle behind it, coming tumbling down through the air in a perfect orb, straight on down until it reached her tongue in an explosive, relieving, heavenly _splash._

She shot out of her seat so fast that time had to catch up with her. The bell rang and she was on the steps, locked onto her target. Polly was already moving out, and a swarm of students grew between her and Yang. Even still, Yang wasn’t one to be deterred by a few bodies. She swerved through the cracks in the groups, down the stairs and out the door, closing in on her goal.

Yang had spent her Sunday learning as much as she could about Polly. Which, admittedly, was very little, but very little was better than nothing at all. She knew Polly was from Vale originally, although she hadn’t found out where specifically. She also knew that she didn’t talk at all since she was mute.

Lucky for Yang, speaking in signs had been a part of the curriculum at Signal, so she figured she was set there. It had been a little while and she’d be rusty, but she was pretty confident that it would come back quickly. Plus she’d been practicing a little.

Polly also apparently really liked ice cream, from what Yang had observed. And that was about the extent of her knowledge. Aside from the fact that she was insanely hot and adorably tiny, of course, but from Yang’s perspective that went without saying.

“Hey! Hey, Polly,” she called out. She’d been lost in thought, and almost didn’t notice that she’d nearly caught up. “Wait up!”

Polly turned and looked at her, stopping just beside the lady’s room. After a moment she smirked and put her hand on her hip.

“Hey, what’s up?” Yang came screeching to a halt in front of her. “What are you up to?”

Polly just kept smirking at her.

“You, uh— you remember me, right? Yang, from—”

She was cut off as Polly signed at her.

 _“I remember_ ,” she said.

“Right, cool. Cool,” Yang nodded. “So what’s going on? Where’re you headed?”

 _“Nothing and nowhere,”_ she started and paused. _“Now that you’re here.”_

Yang’s eyes widened briefly, then she blinked and forced them back. _Keep it cool._

“Yeah? Well,” she shook herself and spoke smoothly. “I’m real good at nothing, but I’d definitely take you _somewhere_.”

_“Oh you would, would you?”_

“For sure. I know all the best places,” Yang said and winked. “Especially for doing a whole lot of nothing.”

Polly giggled softly, and Yang’s heart giggled back.

 _“Not so nervous anymore, are you?”_ Polly signed.

“Me, nervous? No,” Yang shook her head. “Must be someone else. I don’t get nervous.”

 _“Is that so?_ ”

“You know it. I bleed confidence, shortstop. No sweat.”

 _“Good to know,”_ she said. Then she added, _“Blondie.”_

“Yeah, you might not have caught on,” she leaned back and waved nonchalantly. “But I’m actually pretty much perfect in every way.”

 _“Now it sounds like your confusing confidence and arrogance,”_ Polly signed. _“Don’t you think?”_

“Maybe,” Yang leaned in as she spoke. “But you like them arrogant, don’t you?”

 _“Oh, I do,_ ” Polly leaned in and bit her lip. _“It makes them so much more fun to break.”_

Yang swallowed audibly. That one got her. _Shit._ That one got her good. Things were escalating a little faster than she'd expected. She was starting to lose this battle, and it was showing. Polly had her right where she wanted her this whole time.

 _“Tell you what,”_ Polly smirked and stepped forward. _“I’ll let you take me somewhere next time if you let me take you nowhere this time.”_

Yang let out a hot breath.

_“Deal?”_

“Okay,” she managed. “Where’s this nowhere?”

Polly grinned widely, flashing teeth. _“Right here.”_

She grabbed Yang by the collar and pulled her into the bathroom, into a stall, out of her clothes, and into 30 minutes of aggressive, passionate bliss. She would’ve called it Heaven, except something about that seemed just wrong.

It wasn’t Heaven, it was Hell. And Yang loved every second of it.

 

— — —

 

“Someone’s feeling happy today.”

Emerald was sitting back, reclining in her chair with a magazine in front of her. Her crimson eyes had left the pages and staring across the room. Talking in a low voice, she nudged Mercury with her foot.

“Hm?” He was sitting on the floor, doing maintenance on one of his mechanical legs. He looked up at Emerald, who nodded toward where she was looking.

“Look,” she kept her voice quiet. “See what I mean?”

Mercury looked over to the same spot as his partner.

“Huh.”

“I’ve never seen her smile so much,” Emerald said.

“Tell her to stop,” Mercury looked back down to his leg. “She’s making me uncomfortable.”

“No thank you,” she shook her head. “You can handle that.”

“Well I’m not gonna say something,” Mercury looked up at Emerald again. “Aren’t you two like, friends or something?”

“Only under the loosest possible definition.”

“Then you do it.”

“Look, if something’s making her smile like _that_ ,” Emerald pointed subtly, “then I am absolutely not gonna fuck with her. You wanna rain on her parade? Be my guest. Not me. Not a chance.”

Neo was sitting cross-legged on her bed, on the other side of the room. She was still wearing her black Haven uniform, but her hair was let down and in its natural multi-toned colors. She had a notebook open beside her, and was folding pieces of colored paper back and forth, in and out. As she flipped her little project over, her lips were wide in a smile. Every now and again a flash of teeth could be seen as well. At one point, she even giggled audibly. That made Emerald shiver.

“I swear, she’s plotting something,” Emerald shook her head. “I don’t like that smile.”

“You know,” Mercury kept on working on his leg. “She’s still in the room. She might be able to hear you.”

“No, she’s not paying attention,” Emerald looked back to her magazine. “And I know how to be quiet. She isn’t hearing us.”

“How can you be positive?”

“I just know,” Emerald rolled her eyes. “I’m a thief, remember? I know how these things work.”

Mercury looked up. After a moment, he gestured in Neo’s direction with his screwdriver.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah, I—” Emerald looked up.

There was a small green origami turtle sitting on Neo’s knee. It had little red googly eyes stuck to the sides of its face, giving it a silly, and perhaps a tad bit dumb, look to it. And Neo was looking up, straight at Emerald, smiling a smaller, knowing smile.

Emerald swallowed.

“Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's number three! I'm liking writing this so far, and I'm looking forward to continuing.
> 
> Also, there may be a gap between this and the next chapter, since I have finals very soon so I won't really be able to do much in the way of writing. After I'm done I should be back in action for summer break, but that's a couple of weeks or so from now. Until then, enjoy chapter 3 and as always any and all feedback is appreciated as usual.


	4. Playing Pretend

**IV**

**_Playing Pretend_ **

—  — —  

_“If you're you, it doesn't matter if you're the most boring person in the world: someone will like you. You're not trying to be anyone else.”_

_—  — —_

Neo was happy.

Of course she was happy. Why would she not be? She had every reason in the world to be happy. Everything already seemed to be going well, and then suddenly, as if dropped directly from the stars above her, there was a smoking hot girl who was nice, funny, strong, sexy, and best of all, willing to spend all her spare time with her. Not to mention her willingness to… _experiment._ Except with her hair, but Neo got that. Special relationships with hair were something that she could understand. Of course, that didn’t stop Neo from wanting to mess with her hair, but she wasn’t going to cross that line yet. Best to wait at least a little while longer.

This was also disregarding the fact that the smoking hot girl who was nice, strong, sexy, and so on and so forth, was unaware of Neo’s real identity or name, and would probably try to break her in half if she was aware. But that was neither here nor there.

 _Speaking of Yang,_ Neo thought.

She pulled her scroll out from her pocket. Legs crossed and bent at the knees, she was laying back across her bed with one of her notebooks opened across her chest. Quickly, she typed out a message and sent it off. Just as soon as she dropped her scroll, she felt it buzz against her stomach from a response.

Neo smirked.

 _Whipped,_ she thought to herself.

 

— — —  

 

Being quiet was not necessarily Yang’s strong suit.

It’s not that she couldn’t shut up, she was socially smart enough to know when to stop talking. Most of the time. Some of the time.

It’s more that, at least physically speaking, she has a hard time just not making noise. It isn’t really her fault, necessarily. Of course, it is her fault, but it’s not like she did it on purpose. She just has a hard time moving around quietly. It’s not something she’s used to doing. Despite what her nature might suggest, she really wouldn’t sneak out at night back at home, or anything like that. Generally, if she was doing something she wasn’t supposed to be doing, she wouldn’t have come home to begin with. Likewise, she always figured that speed trumped silence, for the most part. It doesn’t really matter if someone knows you're there or not, just as long as you don’t get caught. And most of the time, if she needed to run away then someone already knew she was there. At the very least, that was her experience.

Also, she didn’t really  _need_ to be moving quietly, from her perspective. It’s not as if she was doing something wrong. All she was doing was going to meet with her— well, with the girl she was sleeping with. Whatever the hell kind of label they were going under at this point.

“I should probably talk to her about that,” she muttered to herself.

The only reason she was trying— unsuccessfully, of course— to sneak out was because her teammates had been acting weird around her ever since she and Polly had started hooking up. Blake especially. She wasn’t really sure _why_ she felt this way, but she was pretty confident that some kind of confrontation was going to happen sooner or later. And don’t get her wrong, she’s not one to avoid confrontation. It’s just that right now, she had a date— or something in that ballpark. And she didn’t like to be late.

But, to reiterate: being quiet was not necessarily Yang’s strong suit.

So, when she knocked into the desk near the door in her hurry, it made a significantly louder than most would expect a desk would make. And now here she was, standing by the door, in front of Ruby and Weiss, having to answer dumb questions that really shouldn’t be any of their business.

“I’m just going out for a little bit,” Yang said. “I don’t see what the big deal is.”

“We’re not saying it’s a big deal, Yang,” Weiss put up her hands. “You're our teammate. We just want to know what’s going on with you.”

“What’s there to know? I’m just hanging out with a girl,” Yang shrugged.

“You’ve just been acting, y’know…” Ruby paused, thinking. “Weird, lately. I just wanna know what’s up.”

“Up? Nothing’s up. The sky’s up,” Yang pointed a finger to the ceiling. “I mean, I could say the same thing about you guys! You haven’t been all even-steven since I started hanging out with Polly, huh? And how about Blake?”

Weiss glanced at Ruby, watching her reaction.

“I don’t know,” Ruby carried on without any second thought. “Maybe she’s just feeling awkward since her partner isn’t spending as much time with her anymore.”

“Yang, it’s not like we’re asking you to stop seeing Polly anymore,” Weiss stepped in.

“Good, ‘cause that would be ridiculous,” Yang crossed her arms.

“We just want you to be open with us. You usually are, so it’s just…” Weiss paused. “It’s just off-putting when you’re not. That’s all.”

“Guys,” Yang shook her head. “I appreciate the concern. Really, I do. But I don’t need it. I just like her. That’s it. I’m allowed to like people, right? I’m allowed to have my own relationships?”

“Of course, Yang,” Weiss said. “It’s just that that doesn’t mean you have to cut us out completely.”

Yang only sighed.

“I’m sure we’d love Polly if we only got to know her more,” Weiss continued. “But we can’t do that if we never see her. You should bring her around more often. I’m sure there’d be no issue, then.”

“She doesn’t want to do that because it means they would have less time to have sex,” Ruby muttered.

“Well I’m sure they could find some time in between,” Weiss shrugged. “Couldn’t you?”

Yang waited a moment, then sighed and rolled her eyes. “Sure, I guess. Whatever.”

“There,” Weiss smiled. “That’s all I wanted.”

They stared at one another for a moment in silence. Finally, Yang stuck out her thumb and pointed behind her.

“So… Can I go now, or what?”

 

— — —  

 

In the dark, empty classroom, the soft moonlight seeped in through the windows like liquid silver. It gave the room a gentle, faint glow that slowly faded as it spread from the center to the outskirts until all of the corners and edges were bathed in darkness. The small pocket that was touched by the moon was a pool of luminous white, and a tiny refuge from the ever-spreading shadows. If you gazed out, fewer and fewer details became comprehensible, or even visible at all. Everything outside of the circle of silver was a void of black nothingness, and everything inside it was the heart of a burning white star. Nothing could be fully seen if it wasn’t two feet in front of you, and so nothing that wasn't two feet in front of you mattered at all.

The glittering golden mane in front of Neo mattered. The way it cascaded down above her, the way it seemed to sway gently in the off-drafts of the room, and the way it wrapped around and enraptured Neo’s fingers as she twirled it.

In the same vein, the jade orbs that stared up at Yang mattered. The glowing green oceans, surrounded by vast white and pearly shining foam, and surrounding dark and mysterious pockets of the deep black abyss.

They simply watched each other, half-clothed and breathing, exchanging the heat that had enveloped their core. Yang was sitting against the seat back, legs crossed and stretched out across onto the desk in front of her. She was leaning forward, looking down at a black-haired Neo. Neo was laying out along the bench, resting the back of her head on top of Yang’s lap, knees bent and her ankles tucked in up to her thighs. They had no idea what time it was. Late, they figured. The only noise in the entire room other than their soft breaths and occasional sighs was a faint clock ticking somewhere in the shadows beyond their world. It wasn’t as though it mattered to them. Time wasn’t within their pool of moonlight silver. Only they were, black hair and green eyes looking up, gold hair and lilac eyes looking down. At one point, Neo noticed Yang’s eyes turn to a flaming crimson. She had seen it before, though of course under wildly different circumstances. For a moment she had considered setting her own irises free to fly with Yang’s, but then caution caught her in her tracks. Perhaps that would risk her cover too much.

After a little while, the vale of silence was finally tugged away as Yang let out a quiet giggle.

 _"What?”_ Neo smirked and signed up to her.

“Nothing, I—  just,” Yang shook her head. “You’re just adorable.”

 _"Oh, you think I’m cute?”_ Neo raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, I do,” Yang laughed softly and bent, lowering her face to Neo’s. “And you can fight me if you think I’m wrong.”

Neo raised her head slightly, meeting Yang’s lips part way and locking together.

 _You might just get that chance,_ Neo thought to herself.

They held each other, basking in each other’s passion and warmth for a few moments, before finally breaking off with a few soft pants. Smiling, they stared at each other again. After a few moments, Yang’s smile faltered slightly as she opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. It hung open, moving but not speaking, and then finally shut again. Neo furrowed her brow and frowned, and then Yang’s mouth opened for a third time. This time it did make a noise, one that Neo still wasn’t exactly used to hearing.

“Polly?” Yang didn’t know how to ask what she wanted to ask, and Neo could hear the hesitation in her voice.

 _"Y_ e _ah?”_

“Well, I was just— y’know, just wondering, if maybe,” she paused and then shrugged and just spoke. “If you wanted to meet my team? And my friends, I guess.”

 _"I already met your team,”_ Neo signed back.

“I mean you met them once, and you didn’t really talk to them,” Yang said. “Plus you haven’t really met all my friends, either.”

Neo waited a moment, staring off at one of the dark, faceless walls. Then she shrugged and signed a response. _"_ _What for?”_

“What do you mean?”

 _“Why do I need to meet them?”_ Neo’s face was blank as she signed. _“What’s the point?”_

“Well, you’re my friend, or— or something, for one thing,” Yang started. “And my team wants to get to know you better, since we spend so much time together now.”

She paused and then shrugged.

“I don’t know, it just seems like a normal thing to do.”

_“Who cares about normal?”_

“I don’t,” Yang shook her head. “I just don’t want to have to keep you and me separate from every other part of my life.”

_“Why?”_

Yang sighed and rubbed her face with her hand. This was starting to get kind of frustrating.

“Polly,” Yang hesitated again, trying to find the words to ask this. “What… are we?”

Neo waited a moment, then shrugged.

“I mean, are we dating, am I your girlfriend, or are we just friends who also happen to fuck or something?”

 _“What does it matter?”_ Neo sat up from Yang’s lap.

“I just want to know what to call us.”

 _“For what?”_ Neo signed as she turned, sitting with her legs crisscrossed. She really was adorable in the moonlight. _“Does a label change anything?”_

“I mean, yeah,” Yang leaned forward and dropped her legs from the desk. “Kinda. I want to know how I should see you, how I should treat you. And…”

Neo waited, but Yang trailed off.

_“And?”_

“And I… don’t just want this to be about sex, I guess,” Yang shrugged again, raising her arms out far to her sides.

Neo waited a few seconds. Then, _“Why?”_

“I really like you, Polly. A lot,” Yang threw her head back and stared at the ceiling until she shut her eyes. “And I want to be… something. Something substantial. I haven’t felt this way about someone, maybe ever. And I feel like you feel something, too. More than just this, at least.”

Neo sat silently for a few minutes. Her eyes dropped slowly as she stared at the floor beneath them. Yang was watching her expectantly, hoping to get some sort of answer or response any time soon.

“I don’t know,” she broke the silence finally, shaking her head and looking away. “Maybe I’m wrong, and you don’t. I’m sorry.”

The way Yang looked off into the nothingness beyond them was something else, to Neo. The world outside of their little circle became something real, something that Yang was focusing on, something that she was trying to see. It felt like they were slowly slipping, losing a grip on one another, and sliding the opposite ways. Yang knew that feeling, and she knew it well. She knew what it was to be abandoned.

Neo knew what abandonment was, as well. But she didn’t know the slipping feeling, not like Yang did. She was used to not having a grip on the world around her. That was normal, that was standard. So she knew the feeling well enough to know that something was slipping. But her secret was that she never bothered trying to grip onto them to begin with.

Yang turned back to look at Neo for a moment. Neo simply shrugged.

 _“I don’t know._ ”

Yang sighed and shook her head.

“Yeah, I guess not,” she said as she slowly rose to her feet.

Neo looked up at her as she stood, signing up to her, _“Are you leaving?”_

“Yeah, I guess so,” Yang nodded as she pulled on her clothes. “It’s getting late, I think.”

Neo nodded too.

“I’ll… I’ll see you around, I guess,” Yang began to turn to leave. She took one last glance back at Neo before she left.

For a moment, Yang doubted it all. For just a minute or two, she believed that maybe she honestly had thought wrong. Maybe there was nothing real at all. Maybe Polly didn’t feel anything like what she felt. Maybe this was going to be just like everything that came before. Maybe this girl was just going to leave her, just like had already happened so many times in the past.

Yang felt like she was taking a thousand punches in the gut.

But punches make Yang get stronger.

Just as fast as the moment came, it fluttered off into the night and away from her mind. As weak as it felt a second ago, every fiber of her resolve swelled back up and steeled her will. The sadness in her eyes receded like tides and was overcome by the crashing waves of determination. She wasn’t wrong. She couldn’t be wrong, not about this one. Not this time. She had been wrong about things before, but not here. No, that she would actively refuse to believe.

She took a step closer to the dark-haired girl, barely clothed, shining in the faint moon glow. She put a hand on her shoulder.

Neo looked up at her and Yang smiled.

“It’s alright,” she said as she squeezed her shoulder gently. “We’ll just talk later. It’s fine, I’m sure we’ll figure this out.”

For a moment, Neo stared up at her blank face and expressionless. Then, slowly, her lips softened to a slight smile, and she nodded.

“Don’t worry,” Yang let out a soft little chuckle. “This is real. I know it is. Neither of us would pretend through all of this, I’m sure.”

Neo nodded.

 _Right,_ she thought to herself. _Pretend._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally back home with more time on my hands. Hopefully, I'll be able to write more often from this point on. I can't make any promises about a schedule or anything like that, but I will definitely try to release updates more frequently in the future.


	5. Jealousies & Loyalties

**V**

**_Jealousies & Loyalties_ **

— — —  

_“Even though we both know we're liars and we start each other's fires_

_We just know that we'll be alright_

_Even though we're kicked out the party 'cause we both hate everybody_

_We're the ones they wanna be like”_

_— — —_

It was late when Neo made it back to the dorm room. Or rather, it was early, since she had taken the time to walk the long way around campus. It gave her more time to enjoy the pint of ice cream that she “found” along the way. Just as she reached her destination, the first rays of dawn had begun to shine through the clouds overhead. Which made it all the more surprising when she stepped inside to see all three of her teammates, up and awake, staring at her. Mercury was laying on his bed face up, with his feet on his pillow and his hands beneath his head. He seemed more interested in the ceiling than in Neo, to tell the truth. Emerald was standing with her arms folded, scowling at Neo from behind Cinder. And Cinder was seated in her large chair, swirling a glass of wine and staring at Neo cooly.

Quietly, Cinder took a sip from her glass, swallowed, and let out of soft, pleased breath.

“So,” she began, “where has our darling little Neo been all night long?”

Blinking twice, her eyes changed from jade green to pink and brown, then brown and pink. As she dropped her disguise, she took one last spoonful from her ice cream, then dropped it into the trash. Finally, she looked at Cinder, shrugged, then turned.

“You agreed to be cooperative with us, Neo. This,” Cinder leaned forward. “Is not cooperative.”

Without reacting, Neo turned and kept walking away.

“Remember our agreement, Neo.”

Neo yawned.

“You do want to see your dear Roman, again,” Cinder smiled a devious, evil smile. “Don’t you?”

Neo stopped. Eyes turning a pale silver-white, she felt her hands begin to tense. She resisted the urge to clench them into fists. Slowly, she turned to look at Cinder. Just before they became visible, her eyes changed back to their normal heterochromia. Cinder’s smile softened slightly, and she leaned back in her chair.

“Good…” Cinder flashed her teeth briefly. “Now, perhaps we should speak more freely, wouldn’t you agree?”

 

— — —

 

Baggy-eyed and yawning, Yang stepped back into her dorm after her last class of the day. Lucky for her she was finished early today, giving her a chance to rest. As most would tell you, she was beginning to realize how unwise it was to operate on only three or so hours of sleep. Not that that would stop her from doing it again. Polly was a bit of a night owl, and therefore Yang would happily be one as well.

With a thud, she dropped back first onto her bed the moment the door was shut and her bag was on the floor. Originally she had planned on changing into cleaner, comfier clothes, but suddenly her attire felt a lot more sleep-worthy. Something about her pillows and blankets made it difficult to keep her eyes open. Rubes and the Ice Queen would be back from their last class in an hour or two, and one of them would probably wake her up then. So maybe it was best to just sleep as much as possible for as long as she could. Maybe that would make her more prepared for the nagging she would get from Weiss the moment she woke. Or maybe Ruby would decide to pull some obnoxious prank on her in her sleep. Only fair. Yang knew she would do the same to her little sister if she had the chance. Or Blake—  

“Blake!” Yang sat up, shouting suddenly enough to startle her reading teammate.

Blake was always back in their room when Yang was finished with classes. She had a couple of hours of break between classes, right around now. Somehow Yang hadn’t remembered or seen her when she was coming back inside. Not that that was much of a surprise with Blake, but normally Yang would be the quickest to notice Blake when she was around.

“Hey, Yang,” Blake tried her best to play off the jump that Yang had given her.

“I forgot you were here,” Yang said between yawns.

“I noticed,” Blake said, without looking up from her book.

“Uh-huh,” Yang rolled onto her side to face Blake. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Reading.”

“Uh, right,” Yang nodded. “Well, what’re you reading?”

Blake glanced up briefly, then back to her book. “Notes.”

“Uh-huh,” Yang waited a moment, then rolled back onto her back with a sigh.

Something seemed off with Blake, right now. She didn’t normally talk much, but she was at least receptive to Yang when she asked her things. The days of struggling to get through a single conversation had long since past, for the most part. Meaning something had to be up if she was acting like this. Unfortunately, in Yang’s exhausted state, she was not properly equipped to handle this situation. She could hardly notice that something _was_ up, let along properly process everything that was making her think that.

For a little while, she just laid there. She had nearly fallen asleep when she remembered what she had to tell Blake.

“Hey, Blake?” She sat back up.

“Yeah?” Blake lowered her book from her face slightly.

“Yeah, I just wanted to let you know that I invited Polly to come hang out with us this Friday,” Yang said. “That’s cool with you, right? I already talked to Weiss and Rubes about it earlier.”

“Oh,” Blake slowly lowered her eyes back to her book. “Alright.”

“Cool, yeah,” Yang paused a moment, then kept talking. “I thought we could all get dinner or whatevs together. I told her to invite her team if they wanted. And maybe JNPR could come too, I don’t know.”

She waited for Blake to react, and continued when she didn’t.

“Then I figured after we could go hang out and maybe spar or something. Her team is fighting in the festival, so I thought it would be could to help each other practice or whatever.”

Once again she waited, and once again she was answered by silence.

“Or we could just see a movie or something. I don’t know, I’m not much for planning ahead, y’know.”

Flashing a grin, she laid back down.

“You’re good with any of that, right?”

“Yeah,” Blake kept on reading. “Sure, whatever.”

“Cool,” Yang said as she stretched out on her bed. “I figured you’d be chill. Weiss and Ruby were so on my back about it earlier. I knew you’d get it, with Sun and all that.”

Blake looked up, this time eyes narrowed slightly. She looked at Yang, who had just shut her eyes.  

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Huh?” Yang opened her eyes and turned, seeing Blakes gaze. “What?”

“You heard me.”

“What? Nothing,” Yang sat up once again. “Just, y’know, you’ve spent time with Sun without us and stuff. I just thought that you would sympathize better than them, is all. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Blake rolled her eyes.

“Well, I don’t,” she looked back down at her book. “If you want me to be honest with you.”

“What?” Yang swung into a seated position, her legs hanging off the edge of the bed. “Why not?”

Carefully, Blake shut her book and placed it on the nightstand next to her.

“Because,” she began. “We’re your team, and she’s not.”

“Oh, not you too,” Yang threw her head back as she spoke.

“We don’t know her, Yang,” Blake leaned forward. “ _You_ don’t know her.”

“Of course I know her! I know her better than you do, at least.”

“That doesn’t mean you _know_ her. And you’re spending all your time with her, now. Instead of your _team_.”

“Oh, that’s not even true!” Yang leaned in as well. “I still spend plenty of time with you guys. I go to all my classes with you guys, I eat with you guys, I study, I do homework, I train, I do all that stuff with you guys!”

“But that’s just when you have to,” Blake raised her voice slightly. “You don’t spend any spare time with us anymore. And we’re supposed to be your team.”

“Oh, come on!” Yang raised hers in response. “That’s because otherwise, I don’t get to spend any time with her! I mean, I’m allowed to have relationships outside of the team, right? I’m allowed to be friends with Pyrrha, and Jaune, and Nora, and whatever, right?”

“That’s different. We know them. You hang out with them, with _us.,”_ Blake countered. “We—  you— don’t know her. And you _don’t_ spend time with us when you’re with her.”

“For fucks— that’s the point of all this!” Yang threw her arms up. “I mean, sure! Maybe I don’t really know her all that well, but how else do I get to know her without spending time with her? And that whole reason I’m inviting her to hang out with us is so that you _can_ get to know her. So that I _will_ spend time with her and you guys.”

“Only because Ruby and Weiss made you,” Blake spat. “You said that yourself.”

“No. I’m doing it because they _asked_ me to,” Yang got to her feet. “They asked, and I listened. We had a _conversation._ I listened to them, and they listened to me, and we came to an understanding. And we tried to _understand_ each other. You’re not trying to understand me, Blake.”

“You’re not trying to understand me!”

“Yes, I am! You just aren’t giving me a chance!”

“I’m your partner, Yang. I’m trying to look out for you. You’re supposed to trust me.”

“That’s real cute,” Yang gave a sarcastic laugh. “Coming from someone who literally ran away from us to spend time with someone else.”

“Nice. Real nice,” Blake’s tone turned colder.

Yang stopped for a moment, sighing. She realized the line she crossed.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” she rubbed her temple. “I didn’t mean that. But you’re still not listening to me, Blake. I get you’re looking out for me, but I don’t need you to. I thought you would understand.”

“I understand more than you can know,” Blake muttered.

Yang looked up, brow furrowed. She gave her teammate a confused, questioning stare.

“Then what—”

“I used to be with someone who I thought I knew,” Blake cut her off. “I thought I knew him, and everyone told me I didn’t. I told them that they just didn’t know him like I did. And I was wrong. He was a monster, and I didn’t see that. Because I loved him. And I let him convince me he was good.”

Yang lowered her voice slightly, her posture dropping and her tone softening.

“Blake, I—”

“And you want to know the first thing he did, to make me believe that?” Blake looked up at Yang, venom in her voice. “He cut everyone else out of my life. Except he didn’t do it himself. He made _me_ do it. He made _me_ run away from all my family and friends who were telling me I didn’t know who he really was, all because they were just trying to look out for me.”

They stared at each other silently, for a moment. Yang opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Slowly, she stepped back and dropped back onto her bed, waiting for Blake to finish.

“And when it turned out he was bad, I still loved him. I loved him while he hurt people. I loved him while he hurt me,” she paused for a moment, then finally continued. “I loved him while he made me hurt the people closest to me. It took everything I had to escape him, and even more for me to get over him. I still can’t say that I have, not completely.”

Yang lowered her gaze.

“So do you get it, then?” Blake rose to her feet. “I’m trying to look out for you, Yang. I’m trying to stop you from getting hurt, the way I did. Because you _don’t_ know her. Even if you _think_ you do.”

Once again, silence fell over them. Working everything over, Yang kept her eyes down on the floor. Without looking up, she could feel the harsh amber gaze staring at her from above. For a moment, she thought. Then she thought some more, and then a bit more. And she thought just a bit longer before she finally decided what to say. She usually wasn’t careful with her words. She wore her heart and her emotions on her sleeve, and she kept the same standard with her beliefs and her opinions. When she thought something, she would say it. This time, though, she realized it was more complicated than that. So she was picking her words, one by one, to say exactly what she wanted to say, how she wanted to say it. If that didn’t convince Blake, then she didn’t know what could.

“I get it, Blake. I really do,” she started. She kept her eyes down, to begin with. “I appreciate you looking out for me. But I’m not a child. I don’t need you to do this for me. We watch out for each other in a fight, sure. But I can handle my love life myself.”

She shook her head and sighed.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, really. But it’s not happening here, I can promise that.” Slowly, she looked up. “I asked her to spend more time with my team. And she said yes. Because I care about her. And she cares about me. She’s not trying to cut other people out from my life.”

For a moment, she glared at Blake silently.

“But I can tell you someone who seems like she’s trying to do that to me, right now.”

Blake opened her mouth, but Yang didn’t let her speak.

“And don’t you dare ever tell me she’s a monster again. I don’t care if it’s just you ‘looking out for me.’ Don’t act like she’s not important to me. I care about her. A lot. I don’t need you telling me who I can or can’t spend my time with.”

Yang tilted her head and flared her nostrils.

“See how that sounds messed up when you say it like that? Who’s making who cut people out, now?”

Blake grit her teeth but didn’t speak.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re jealous. Because that’s it, right?” Yang shrugged. “That’s all it is, isn’t it? I’m spending time with her, and you think that will take away from you and me. Well, it wouldn’t have. I was trying to make sure of that, that’s why I invited her over. But then you had to react like this.”

Yang stood up, looking down to meet Blake’s gaze. They stared at one another, waiting for the other person to make the next move. Finally, Yang sighed.

“So I’m sorry. I’m sorry you went through all that. I’m sorry you feel the way you do.” She gave a brief, sardonic chuckle. “I’m sorry that you were too young catch on to him trying to control you. But I know Polly. And I know myself. And I know that I won’t let anything like that happen to me. Sorry that you couldn’t say the same.”

It took Yang a second to notice it. It took her a second to notice the tear that rolled down Blake’s cheek. It took her a second to notice the quiet sniffle that came from her nose. It took her a second to notice the way Blake trembled slightly, the way her face turned red, the way her eyes widened to the limit, and the way her jaws shut together in a hard, tense lock.

And a second was a moment too long.

“Blake, I—”

Yang didn’t have a chance to finish. Blake turned and walk away, straight away, out through the door, right away from Yang. There wasn’t time to stop her, there wasn’t time to say something to her, there wasn’t time to apologize. Blake walked out on Yang, just like that. Yang was familiar with people walking out. She knew what it felt like, she knew what it looked like, and she knew what it meant. It happened enough times. Those times before were always eerily similar. And all she did was stand there in silence, whispering to herself, hoping that this was not going to be one of those times. Since just because she was familiar with being walked out on, didn’t mean she knew how to deal with it.

Maybe Yang hadn’t been quite so careful with her words, after all.

 

— — —

 

“So,” Cinder’s voice was sultry and soft, but the flame inside it was ready to ignite at any moment. Neo could tell as much. “Are we clear on our new agreement?”

Neo rolled her eyes and turned away in her seat.

“Neo… Don’t make this any more difficult than it needs to be,” her tone lowered, and it sounded even more maternal. Which meant it was even closer to ignition than it was before. “We have quite the possibility on our hands, here. It would be foolish for us to not take… advantage of that.”

Neo glanced at her, glaring. She turned away again, arms folded.

“We’re not asking you to do anything to her that you don’t want to do,” Cinder leaned in. “All we want is whatever information you can give us.”

She smiled slightly.

“Or do you not care as much about your Roman as you led on, hm?”

Neo’s gaze snapped up and she stared at Cinder harshly, even growling faintly. But as dangerous as she could make herself look, it didn’t change the truth. It wouldn’t make her any less helpless right now. She knew it. And obviously, Cinder knew it as well. So, through her glares and her snarls, she slowly allowed herself to relent and relax. She had to. It wasn’t as though she had any other choice, really.

_“...Fine.”_

Cinder’s smile widened, and she laughed gently.

“Mmm, good. We just needed to see if we still know where your,” she paused and breathed softly, as if searching for the words. “Loyalties, lie…”


	6. Probably Better Off Alone

**VI**

**_Probably Better Off Alone_ **

— — —  

 _“We met at the wrong time. That’s what I keep telling myself, anyway. Maybe one day years from now,_ _we’ll_ _meet in a_ _coffee shop in a far away city somewhere and we could give it another shot."_

_— — —_

Neo knew what had to be done. What she had to do. And she didn’t want to do it, not particularly. But that was neither here nor there. Want— want was neither here nor there. Like it always was.

Because want always plays second fiddle to need.

And she needed to survive. She needed to get out of this alive. She needed to get away and escape with everything that kept her moving. She needed Roman.

Nothing would get in the way of what she needed.

So, therefore, nothing would get in the way of Roman. Not this time, not last time, not anytime. So she knew what she had to do. Normally, that would entail moving on and forgetting. Forgetting about it was how Roman survived, and it was how she would keep him alive. But something about this time made forgetting just feel wrong, in some way. For some reason, she  _needed_ to face it as she ended it. She needed to do it, so she had to do it. So, once more, she knew what she had to do.

But _f_ _uck_ did she not want to do it.

 

— — —

 

Yang really just needed to be alone.

She had already talked to her sister about it. She spoke with Weiss, too. She had a conversation with General Ironwood, although he was more so just telling her what was going to happen next. And Qrow had even stopped by to have a chat about it. Which sucked, considering that that was only the second time she’d even seen her uncle since he had come to visit. He mentioned some stuff about her mother, and that was nice and all, but it really didn’t do much to change how she was feeling right now. Hell, everyone who had spoken to her about it so far had even been pretty understanding of it. Even Ironwood wasn’t entirely against her, even if he didn’t seem to exactly believe her side of the story. But, again, none of this really had changed how she was feeling.

And Blake, on the other hand. Blake had barely looked at her. To be fair, it wasn’t like Yang had really given her much of a chance. Yang wasn’t doing much looking at Blake herself. They hadn’t looked at each other really at all, over the past couple weeks. Not since their fight. She knew her partner wouldn’t say anything to her, not right now, but she knew it exactly how she would be looked at if Blake  _did_ look at her. That look that would say, “I told you so.” That wasn’t a look she was particularly interested in seeing, at the moment.

So here she was, sitting on the roof of her dorm building, staring out at the sunset all alone. Zwei had been with her for most of the day, but now she left him back in her room instead. She knew what she saw, but part of her couldn’t help but be afraid that maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had just broken Mercury’s leg for no good reason. In that case, she didn’t really feel all that deserving of the love and affection of her dog right now. How could she, when maybe everyone else was right and she wasn’t?

To a certain degree, she thought it didn’t really matter who was right and who was wrong. They were all already looking at her like she was wrong, with few exceptions. Even if she was right, no one else would ever truly be able to see that. She was lucky enough to have friends and family who would believe her and trust her and take her side no matter what. But they still couldn’t  _see_ what she saw. Or what she thought she saw.

There was one other person she hadn’t talked to yet, as well. That was more because she wasn’t sure how she was going to go about that yet. Polly and Mercury were teammates, after all. Who would she believe? Did Polly trust her enough to believe her on this? Or would she take his side? From what she could remember, Yang didn’t think she ever saw Polly interact with the rest of her team a whole lot. But that didn’t mean she didn’t trust them. And she wasn’t sure if that trust would or would not outweigh the trust she had with a person she’d known for about a month, tops.

She did want to see Polly, though. Even in spite of however the girl might react. Mainly, she just wished she had someone to hold onto right now. Or someone to hold onto her, either was fine. Maybe she shouldn’t have left Zwei downstairs, after all.

Oh, Polly. Polly, Polly, Polly. What a difficult situation this was turning out to be. _What a difficult situation this already was,_ she thought to herself. Weiss had accepted her quickly enough, after getting to know her slightly better. Polly and Ruby even seemed to get along relatively well, which was nice to see. It still wasn’t like either of them were really close with Polly, but it was better than it was before. The shorter girl was still reserved around other people, but at least she was around other people. But then there was still the Blake problem. Yang had yet to see Blake even _try_ to speak to Polly. Whenever Polly was around you could be sure that Blake wouldn’t be, within a few minutes. If she was even there to begin with. There was a part of Yang that felt responsible for that. Of course there was, all things considered. Recently there were a few times that she tried to talk to Blake, maybe even apologize for their last argument. Evasive as always, Blake never let her get very far. They used to be best friends, and now Yang couldn’t help but hesitate when referring to her as her  _partner_. Let alone anything more significant than that.

 _Yeah, great going, Yang. Sure did a number on that one,_ she thought.

So. Here she was. Sitting on the roof of her dorm building. Staring out at the sunset. All alone. Watching the yellow bleed through the sky, rippling out and fading, inch by inch, from orange, to red, to purple, to blue. It washed over her, and she shut her eyes and sank in. The warmth was nice, but she didn’t want to see the sun anymore. Waiting, she sat as it receded, slowly but surely, until it had faded to nothing and the watercolor lights drifted off into the great beyond. Only then, did she finally open her eyes back up and look out. Out from her lips slipped a long, deep breath that she didn’t know she had been holding. A slight breeze blew over her as she stared out across the campus beneath her. This was more comfortable, here in the cool, pale moonlight. She had always been a daytime person, so it was odd when the night felt more welcoming. Maybe the moon was just a little less judgemental than the sun.

With a sigh, she looked over her shoulder next to her. Part of her was surprised, but another part wasn’t when she saw Polly sitting there next to her. She was staring over the horizon as well. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her emerald eyes were dazzling in the starlight. The way they looked straight forward, it was as though she were hoping to find something that wasn’t there anymore. Like something was hiding just past where you could see and any moment now it might just appear again, as if it was there all along. Yang wanted to smile, but smiling was too exhausting. She opted to just look back at the horizon again, instead. Maybe she could find the hiding thing.

“I didn’t hear you.”

 _“That’s okay,”_ Yang could see her signing, even though neither would look at one another. _“I’m used to that.”_

“I guess you are,” Yang nodded. “Sorry, about that.”

_“That’s alright. You get over it, after a while.”_

“Yeah.”

_“You don’t need to be heard when no one’s listening, anyway.”_

Yang turned slightly but stopped partway.

“I’d say I’m listening,” she sighed. “But something gives me the feeling that my ears haven’t been working so good, lately.”

_“You try. That’s more than most.”_

“That doesn’t make it enough.”

_“There’s no such thing as enough.”_

Silence fell. Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved. They waxed and waned in each other’s presence. Like some kind of grand contradiction, they both revelled and distressed beside one another. Being together was joy, but it was sorrow. It was pain, but it was healing. For Yang, the girl beside her was light and joy, but she made her suffer and insecure. She loved her, with all her heart, but the longer she sat beside her the more she felt lost and confused. And for Neo, Yang was pleasure and warmth, as well as fear and inferiority. It was supposed to just be a fling. A short little thing, for the fun of it. That’s what Yang was supposed to be. So why was this so much harder than it needed to be?

“So, uh…” Yang decided to be the one to break the silence. “Is Mercury… is he gonna be alright?”

 _“He’ll be fine,”_ she nodded. _“He’s been through worse.”_

“I… good, I—” Yang paused, not sure how to continue. “I still don’t really know what happened, but… if you get the chance, can you— can you tell him I’m sorry?”

Neo waited a minute before finally nodding.

 _If you only knew,_ she thought.

“…Good,” Yang said slowly. “Whatever he’s been through, he didn’t deserve that.”

Neo nodded, and another moment passed silently. Neo broke that, this time.

_“How are your teammates?”_

“They’re… okay,” Yang started slowly. “Weiss and Rubes understand, I think. They’re trying to support me. Blake…”

She kept listening, but Yang trailed off. Neo just waited, letting the silence tell Yang what to say.

“To be honest, me and Blake haven’t really… talked, in a little while.”

_“Oh.”_

“Yeah,” Yang smiled sadly, and almost laughed. “Oh.”

She sighed and shook her head before finally speaking again.

“Not that I’d blame her, honestly. I said some things I shouldn’t have said. And after today? Yeah.”

_“Today wasn’t your fault.”_

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that at this point,” she looked down at the roof beneath her. “Practically everyone’s telling me I’m wrong. At a certain point, you gotta start to think that maybe they’re right.”

 _“You’re not,”_ Neo shook her head.

Sluggishly, Yang lifted her head and looked to her side. The small woman beside her was staring right at her, sternly and seriously. Her brow was furrowed slightly, and the blacks of her pupils were sharp like bullets.

 _“Trust me,”_ she said after a moment.

Yang met her stare, for a little bit. Then she pulled away, forcing her gaze off of Neo, dragging lilac eyes from jade ones. Turning, she looked back out over Beacon. The further parts of the campus off seemed to fade into the night, lost in the darkness.

“If you say so,” she responded after a little while.

Neo could only frown. For a brief moment, as she stared at Yang, she almost let her disguised fall. She could how what had happened was hurting her. She could see the pain that the blonde beside her was feeling. Neo wasn’t one to know sympathy very well, but if this was it then she didn’t like it. There was enough pain in her life, she didn’t need to experience the pain of others. She didn’t want to feel that. Or maybe she didn’t want Yang to feel that. Either way, there was only one way to stop it. She knew that. Yang probably knew it too, but she wouldn’t be able to admit it. All Neo could do was make that choice, right here, right now. Before she had to feel this anymore. Maybe Yang would even have a chance get out of all this mess if she did it now. Part of Neo hoped so, although she pushed that off quicker than quick. Either way, if she was making this choice then she’d have to make it now. Who knows, if Cinder didn’t particularly care about Yang then maybe whoever she worked for wouldn’t, either. Maybe. Who knows.

“Next tournament match is starting soon, I guess,” Yang said.

_“I guess.”_

“You don’t want to watch it?”

_“Do you?”_

“Yeah,” Yeah chuckled slightly. “I guess not.”

Neo took a deep breath and braced herself. _Why am I afraid of this?_

She turned to Yang, then look down at the rooftop. _Why am I bothering to do this at all?_

 _“Yang,”_ she started, slowly looking up as she began. _“I need to tell you something.”_

“I know,” Yang nodded, not looking over.

Neo paused, but she wasn’t entirely surprised. She could feel Yang, even from over here.

_“I’m sorry.”_

“Yeah, I know,” she took a shaky breath as she spoke. Her eyes began to water, a little. “I just wish I understood.”

_“I know.”_

“Why can’t you explain it to me?” Some of the water in her eyes was starting to spread to her cheeks.

_“I just can’t.”_

“Yeah,” Yang nodded. “I know.”

Then she laughed. Not a happy one, but a laugh nonetheless.

“Why do I keep saying that? I know, I know, I…”

She stopped talking. The water was spreading faster.

_“I enjoyed our time together, Yang. I promise I did.”_

“Thanks, I guess,” she half smiled. “That doesn’t really make me feel better, but thanks anyway.”

She stopped kidding herself. These were tears, and she was crying.

_“I’m sorry.”_

“Stop saying that,” Yang sniffled. “Please, just stop.”

Neo nodded. She didn’t like apologizing anyway.

“I’ve never been broken up with before, you know. Kind of unfamiliar territory for me,” Yang’s voice trembled, and she watched Beacon tower off in the distance as she spoke. “I’m usually the heartbreaker, not the… the…”

_“This.”_

Yang nodded, “This.”

They sat silently again for another moment. Yang let the tears keep coming. She wasn’t sobbing, but she wasn’t crying a pretty cry. Meanwhile, Neo thought she could feel something in her eyes.

“I don’t like being this,” Yang said.

Neo nodded.

“But I’d be it again,” she kept talking through the tears. “For you.”

Neo didn’t know how to respond to that, so she didn’t.

“Not meant to be, I guess,” Yang rubbed her nose, then turned and finally looked at the dark-haired girl beside her. “Maybe in another life, huh?”

_“Maybe.”_

“Not this life, though,” Yang nodded.

Neo looked down. For a moment she thought she let her eyes go white, by mistake. Then she thought better of herself and decided she’s too much in control for a slip-up like that. After a while, she got to her feet. She gazed down at Yang, who was looking forward again. For a little bit, she just stood there. Looking at her. Then, slowly, she began to turn, saying her farewells to her blonde lover before turning completely. She wasn’t sure if Yang could see what she said, but she wanted to say it anyway.

_“Goodbye, Yang.”_

She turned and began to walk away.

“Guess I’m just better off alone, in this life,” Yang said, without turning.

Neo stopped briefly. She couldn’t help but say one last thing, before turning and leaving for good.

_“Me too.”_

She knew for sure that Yang couldn’t see what she said. But she needed to say it anyway.

With that, Yang was alone again. She was sobbing, now, on her own in the night. She was still up there, on her own, when Pyrrha and Penny’s duel began. She was still up there, on her own, when Penny was torn to shreds. She was still up there, on her own, when Cinder began to give her speech. She didn’t see or hear any of it as it began. If she could, she didn’t notice.

It was only when the fighting broke out that she heard, and that she noticed. It was only when the White Fang was flying over and the Grimm were flooding in past the walls that she moved. It was only as the fire and the flames below began to spread that she came running. It was only as she bolted down the stairs and called her sister that she made her decision. That she lost one girl she loved already, today. And she wouldn’t lose another.

And it was only as the adrenaline took over, and her body became fire, instinct, and rage, that her mind went back to Polly again, if only for a moment, and thought briefly before pushing it off to the back of her mind once again:

_Her eyes turned white._


	7. And Down It Goes

**VII**

**_And Down It Goes_ **

— — —  

_“She jumped out of bed, and away she ran, down the stairs and out into the forest. And the three bears never saw her again.”_

_— — —_

_So this is what dying feels like, huh? Not so bad, I guess._

Yang couldn’t feel anything. She blinked in and out of consciousness, and the world seemed to slip and fall away. It was a slow descent, inch by inch, and it didn’t give her the sense that there was any rush or hurry. It was happening when it was happening. No need to be hasty about it, not like she had anywhere to be.

It wasn’t cold, it wasn’t painful, it wasn’t loud, it wasn’t quiet, it wasn’t even numb. It just was. Or, rather, it wasn’t. Nothingness. At least, it started to become that nothingness. There was no sensation to it. No feeling. Again, she couldn’t feel anything. Although for some inexplicable reason that she couldn’t quite place, her right arm seemed to feel slightly more nothing than the rest of her body. Huh. Oh, well. It didn’t bother her too much. Not like she needed it anymore. Not out here, alone in the darkness.

Then her eyes drifted open slightly for a moment, and she wasn’t in the darkness anymore.

 _Oh, come on,_ a thought floated through her mind. _Just let me get this over with!_

She could see him, again. Just barely. Not enough to make out any features, but enough to identify him. The red-haired Faunus with the horns. No idea what his name was. A member of the White Fang, for sure. Connected to Blake somehow, if she were to guess. _Or is that racist? Whatever._ She thought she saw Blake for a moment, but then it was just one of her shadows. _Where is she? Where did she go?_ She was gone, now. Vanished. She left her. Yang was by herself, alone, yet again. Not in the dark, this time. The Faunus was standing over her. For a moment she thought he was saying something, but maybe that was just the wind. Who knows. Things were getting dark again. The pain just started to come back, but it was fading now. The sounds sounded distant, the heat felt lukewarm at best, the burning smelled weak, and the ground felt— well, it didn’t feel like much of anything, anymore.

_Finally. Let’s get back to it, now._

Then her eyes were opening again. Fluttering open, closed. Open, closed. There was cool air blowing along and over her. It felt like she was bouncing, shaking along in a hurry. Stark contrast from her leisurely stroll to the grave.

_Oh, come on! Let’s hurry this along now, alright? I don’t got all day!_

Well, maybe that wasn’t so true.

She was being carried. _Blake? You came back?_ No, not quite. They were bigger, taller. Black hair, like Blake’s.

“…Mmmm… mom…” She tried to ask it, but it came out less of a question and more of a groan of some kind. Maybe a whine.

“Heh,” the voice was muffled, like it was far away and submerged in water. “Not quite, kiddo. It’s alright, you rest now. Can’t say you didn’t earn it.”

 _Oh. Qrow, then._ Not that it sounded like him— nothing sounded like it was supposed to, right now— but it definitely spoke like him. But where did he come from? Where did Blake go, exactly? Where was that red-haired guy? The pain was starting to return to her body, along with all the other sensations. Although her arm still felt kinda funky.

Still being carried along, she tried to raise her head more. She needed to figure out was going on. Some memories started to come back, but slowly. There was an image of that Faunus, smiling… and she was in the air, and… and then everything was blank, again.

“Where… Qrow, where…” She could barely even make out her own voice. Whether her daze made her sound different, or her voice was too hoarse to be recognizable, she wasn’t sure.

“Don’t try to move,” Qrow’s voice came back.

It felt like something— a hand, maybe— pushed her head back down. She tried to sit up again, but then there was an ache in her neck that rolled down along her spine to the rest of her body. Not moving sounded much more appealing now.

“Where… Blake…”

“Don’t worry, just hold on,” his voice was rushed and worried, but calm and almost relaxing. “We’ll find her, just don’t think about it now.”

 _So Blake was missing,_ she thought. _What if she’s in danger? What if she needs my—_

Suddenly her arm was throbbing. For a moment she felt like she was on fire, and not in the normal way. The good way. The pain was so much that she couldn’t even scream. Until she could. And so she did. Very, very loudly.

Everything from there was a blur. She was pretty sure that Qrow said something or other, but she couldn’t really hear him anymore. The world was all faded and dizzy, and her mind would go black every once in a while. There was nothing but the pain and the feeling of being bounced along, step by step. It seemed like it would never end, and she was sure she was going to be there for hours and hours more. In truth, she had no idea how long her uncle carried her along for. It could’ve been hours, days, months. Or it could’ve been minutes. It didn’t really matter. She didn’t feel like she was dying anymore. Everything _was,_ and it was more than the normal levels too. It was too much. Too much feeling. She wasn’t making her descent, she was freefalling to who knows where. The world wasn’t dark, it was being incinerated. With her in it. Everything that was empty was filled to the brim with pain. She wasn’t dying anymore, and she was feeling a lot less peaceful now.

“Just hang in there, kiddo,” Qrow held her close to him, moving as quickly as he could. “I’ve got you. It’ll be alright.”

But she couldn’t hear him. She couldn’t hear just about anything, right now. Yang got the feeling that her ears weren’t working so good, at the moment.

 

— — —

 

Neo was flying.

Well, she wasn’t really flying. It was more like she was falling. Falling down slowly, miles up in the air, yard by yard. So maybe it was more like floating. Not gently, and not gracefully. Certainly not comfortably. But slowly. Slowly enough that she wouldn’t die, at least. Assuming none of those flying Grimm snatched her out of the air.

She tried her best to stay calm. Her education wasn’t necessarily a complete one, but at least she knew enough about Grimm to know it’s best to stay calm when they’re nearby. Anyone with a brain who’d lived outside the laws as long Neo did could’ve told you that. Just stay calm, and she’ll be fine. Roman would be fine. He always was. All she had to do was land, then she could go find him, then everything would work out. They were handling little red well enough, so she wasn’t really concerned about her right now.

Then she felt a little something. Ruby wasn’t really so bad, and she was Yang’s younger sister. The young huntress could be a little too…  _touchy_ for Neo’s taste, at times, but she was nice. Caring, which was a bit unusual. She tried to get to know Neo a little better, which was certainly rare enough. And she was for sure more approachable than that rich heiress girl. No doubt about that. Plus she was a bit on the smaller side, which Neo appreciated for reasons she couldn’t exactly put to words. Then again, the rich heiress girl was even shorter, but eh. Approachability, or whatever.

Neo wasn’t exactly fond of the girl, she was only fond of one person. She paused and lost her train of thought, briefly. _One._ That person also happened to be a redhead, but he was much taller than Yang’s younger sister. And he had a much better sense of style, at that. Still, she couldn’t deny that she did  _like_ Yang, and so it made her feel at least a little… something, about beating up her younger sibling. Something more than she usually would feel, although she didn’t necessarily know the word for it. Oh, well. It wasn’t her job to care about the people that got in their way. It was only her job to deal with them.

A bit more time passed in the air, but eventually Neo landed. It seemed like most of the battle was dying down, at that point. There was some big mess of explosions through Beacon tower, and then the top got blown off by something. Neo just ignored that. It didn’t really concern her, at this point. Her job was done. She was set on finding Roman and getting away. As far, far, far away as they possibly could. Cinder and her associates had their plans and visions for the future, but Neo couldn’t care less. If they wanted to build a new world, then fine. They can go right on ahead, but Neo wanted no part in their grand scheme. She knew well enough that when one world order is destroyed, a new one will always replace it. And when that happens, the new order is never as good as its creators advertise. Rulers are always rulers, armies are always armies, laws are always laws. No different from the last, and no different from the next. She’d lived a life outside of all of those things before. Nothing was stopping her from doing it again.

Some Grimm were starting to encroach on her as she moved along the wreckage of the campus, towards the crashed airships. She didn’t really pay them much attention, and so when she killed them she didn’t particularly notice. Then some White Fang members encroached on her as well. Either they didn’t know who she was, or they didn’t care. Too bad, now they’re dead. Neo didn’t care much, either. She’d already started to zone out and ignore it all. And she was good at that. It’s hard to do a lot of the things Neo does— has to do— even if you don’t care. It’s tiring, physically speaking. And you get bored. Usually it’s best to try and think of something else, if you can. To keep your mind preoccupied while your body did its thing.

She thought about Roman. About how they met. About the way he would talk to her. About the way he would kneel down and look up at her and smile. How proud he would get, when she learned how to do something new. How he taught her to steal, to survive, to thrive. About his warm, fatherly glow. Then she thought about where they would go. Outside the city limits, maybe. A cabin in the woods. A warm fireplace during a cold winter. Leaning against him on their couch, listening to one of his stories from his youth. She would grow older, a full woman, maybe even gain an inch or two. And his hair would start to gray, like those old men that he would always make fun of.

“Who can live that long?” He would say. “What’s the point? What’s there to do? You expect me to live out my final years as a cranky old man, who can’t even piss without help? No thanks. I’ll die young, when life is still fun.”

She would see him off to the very end, keep him company. He wouldn’t be alone, just as he never left her alone. And even as he faded off, slowly gliding off to the grave, she still wouldn’t be alone. Not now, not ever. In her dream-like vision, she looked up at another person beside her. There was a woman, holding her close and smiling down at her, and she—

Oh.

Neo found Roman’s hat. It was sitting on some rubble, tattered and slightly torn. There was blood on it.

Everything became instinct. Her body, mind, and soul went to the feral animality that she knew so well in her earliest years. Climbing the rubble, she searched. And she searched. And she searched, and searched, and searched. She dug and pulled and kicked and pushed. There was more blood on the rocks and bricks, both wet and dry. It soaked over and in, until her fingertips were torn and bruised, and she wasn’t sure which blood was hers and which wasn’t. It felt like she dug for hours, and she didn’t stop even as her body screamed and trembled. It would be best if she would try and think of something else. That would make her feel better. But there was nothing else to think of. Not now, not ever. There was no feeling better. She had to fight pain, exhaustion, fear, and everything in between. And fought she did.

Eventually, she came across his cane. It was scraped and bent ever so slightly, though that could be mended. She kept digging. Then she found part of his overcoat, ripped off at the hem. She kept digging. Then she found a shoe, lost from its foot. She kept digging.

There was an arm. A leg, Another leg. With everything she had, she pulled and pulled until he was free and loose. At first, her tears were good. The happy kind. Then he wouldn’t move. His body was limp, weak, and cold. Parts of it were battered and bloodied. There were bruises and dents. And there were holes, like puncture wounds. They looked like teeth marks. Then her tears weren’t so good anymore. They were the fearful kind. She shook him, she pounded on him, she slammed on him. Her body trembled and she could hardly move. On the other hand, he was oh so still, and he couldn’t move at all.

Then her tears were bad. Weak, tired, and hungry, she tumbled forward and held him close. Like when she was a child, she gripped him by the coat and tugged. Tugged for him to move, to stand, to speak, to do  _anything._

He didn’t.

And now she was alone.

 

— — —

 

When Yang woke up, she was by herself. At first she panicked, not sure of where she was. Slowly, she calmed down. It was her room. Her childhood room, back home in Patch. The light orange covers were pulled up to her chest, and she’d been changed into some of her casual clothes. Strands of hair hung over her shoulders, and she could tell it had been washed recently. Not that it was wet, but it smelled like shampoo. The lights were off, and the only source of illumination was the soft sunlight that snuck through the gaps of her curtains. Morning light, it seemed most like. Visions of the early rays of dawn through those windows came back to her. The room smelled like lavender. It took her a few moments to place it, but then she saw the air-freshener sitting on her nightstand to her left.

For a brief second, she wasn’t sure if she was dreaming or not. She didn’t know how she ended up here, or what happened last. The first thing she could remember was feeling… cold. And alone. Where was everyone? Why was she here? Was this the dream? Or was everything at Beacon a dream? How long had she been here? Then the Fall started to come back to her, piece by piece. The more she remembered, the more she became sure she wasn’t dreaming. That happened, she was sure. If it hadn’t, then she wouldn’t want so bad to forget it. But how long ago could that have been?

She shook her head. It was too dark.

With a deep breath, she slowly sat up and reached to her right to pull the curtains open. The curtains didn’t touch her hand when they should have, but she kept reaching without thinking about it. When she still couldn’t find them, she leaned into it. Then she was on the floor with a thud.

All of her lower body ached. Her thighs and calves felt like she hadn’t used them in days. Maybe it had been longer than she thought. Up in her chest, she felt bruised and sore. Part of her didn’t want to see what she looked like, but another part knew she would have to see eventually. Pull herself up with her left arm, she used her right to pull off her tank top.

Except it didn’t come off.

That was odd.

Then more memories started to come back. The ones that hadn’t found their way back already. She didn’t want to look down. She wouldn’t look down. Except she looked down. Hanging there in silence, hovering invisibly where her arm should have been, there was nothing. Nothing at all. From her hand to halfway up her bicep, there was nothing but air. Part of her arm just rested weakly, almost dangling from her shoulder. It ended in a rounded edge, wrapped in pale white bandages. Slowly, she reached over with her other arm. That was still there, at least. Staring in a sickening focus, her hand shook slightly as it inched closer and closer to the gauze. Just before she could begin to unwrap it, her door swung open and her focus was snapped. She turned and a blonde, middle-aged man came hurrying in.

“Yang?” He looked around quickly before spotting her on the floor behind her bed. “Yang, are you alright? I heard you fall, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she put her hand on the bed and began to try and pull herself up. “I’m fine.”

“Here, let me help,” he came over and started helping her up.

“I’m fine, dad,” she brushed him off. “I can stand by myself, I’m not a cripple.”

Although the task was proving a lot harder than she expected.

“Right, I…” Taiyang paused. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” she kept pulling herself up.

Just when she was making progress, her elbow gave and she tumbled back onto the floor. Immediately her dad was back reaching down to her again.

“Yang, let me—”

“I’m fine!” She gave a frustrated sigh, but he started helping her up anyway. She tried to resist, but she didn’t do a very good job. Eventually, he got her up to seated on her bed.

“You’re alright,” he spoke softly. “You’re alright.

With another groan, she flopped back onto her bed before slowly pulling her legs back up onto it with her.

“Yang, I…” He started to speak, but partway through he realized he didn’t know what to say. So he didn’t.

She looked up at him briefly, then looked away. Propping herself up against the headrest, she just stared down into her lap. They waited silently for a few moments, not really sure what the other was waiting for. Eventually, Yang spoke.

“So,” she started, saying each word with a careful deliberateness. “What happened?”

“Well, you…” Taiyang thought over his answer for a moment, then proceeded cautiously. “You got hurt.”

“Obviously,” she interrupted.

“And you were unconscious, for a bit,” he kept going. “For a while, actually.”

“How… long has it been?”

“Three days.”

“What?” She furrowed her brow. “How?”

“Well,” he half shrugged. “We were kind of hoping you might know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nobody knows what happened to you. None of us saw, so all we know is that whatever did—” He cut himself off, before continuing. “Whatever… hurt you, really did some damage to the rest of you as well.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Me neither,” he sighed. “But that’s all we’ve figured out. I mean, as far as we know you were the only person there for it.”

Except she wasn’t.

“Blake,” she looked up. “Where’s Blake?”

Taiyang took a deep breath.

“We…” He tried to speak as gently as he could. “We haven’t seen her since the night of the Fall.”

Yang sank, visibly. In her bed, in her face, in her body, and in her soul. And she sank far.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, Yang. People have been searching the campus for survivors, and she still hasn’t turned up. At least, there’s a chance that she’s still—”

“She is,” she cut him off. Turning away from him, she stared out the window. There weren’t many leaves left on the trees, but there were still some. “She didn’t die. She ran.”

“Did you see her?” Her dad asked questions carefully. She could be temperamental, growing up. How that would manifest now wasn’t a question needing answers, right now.

“No, but she was with me. When…” She looked down at her arm, then back up out the window. “When this happened. She was next to me. And then she wasn’t.”

Taiyang opened his mouth to speak, but hesitated. He looked down at his daughter, and she lowered her gaze to her lap again. There was an anger in her voice, but it was an anger he knew. She was good at masking her pain and sadness with anger. Most people didn’t notice it, but he always did. He raised her, after all.

Before he could decide what to say, she looked up again.

“And her body wasn’t either, so she didn’t die. She ran.”

Ever since Ruby and Yang left for Beacon, Taiyang hadn’t gotten many opportunities to talk to them. They communicated occasionally, and he heard things about their teammates and friends. Even though he never really got a chance to meet any of them yet, he knew both of his daughters cared about them. A lot. Maybe even more so than they let on. Another thing that he picked up on, raising his girls. It was a long time since Yang last had a best friend. She always had friends, and big groups of them, too. But a best friend... it almost seemed like she avoided those, or something. It was never clear why, but he remembered it starting when she was young. So when he heard her talking about this new friend of hers, Blake— this _best_ friend of hers— he knew she was important to Yang.

But now she was gone. And Yang was saying Blake went and ran away— that she left her?

Yeah. Yang didn’t have a good track record with that.

“Well, I’m sure she’ll come back,” he finally said, sitting down on the best beside Yang. “No one can stay away from you for long.”

Yang didn’t move or speak. Really, she didn’t even react at all.

He decided that maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

Slowly, Yang looked up.

“What about Ruby? Is she home, too?”

“Yeah, she’s in her room. She’s… unconscious, too. But she’s alright.”

“What happened?”

“I’ll explain that later,” he said, hesitantly. “It’s kind of complicated, and I don’t want to overwhelm you now. The only thing that matters right now is that your uncle Qrow got her and that she’s gonna be fine.”

“And Weiss?”

“Her father came to pick her up. She was with some of your other friends in Patch when he showed up to bring her home.”

“Are they all okay?”

“They’re… managing, I think,” he said. “I… One of your friends… Pyrrha, she…”

Yang swallowed. For the first time since waking up, she could feel her eyes dampen slightly.

“Did she…”

“She didn’t make it,” he finally said. “I’m sorry, Yang.”

She didn’t respond, right away. Every part of her body felt cold and empty. Feelings she was starting to grow more familiar with. Even so, it still washed over her like a tidal wave, holding her down and drowning her. It was starting to feel harder and harder to breath. There was a small, little flame inside her. The heat was faint, and she could barely feel it. It wanted something, wanted out— but as quickly as she noticed it, she pushed it away, ignored it. All she could think about was Pyrrha. Her smile, her scarlet hair, her kind speech and soft laughs. And now she wouldn’t see or hear any of that, anymore. Not ever again. After a while, she slowly started to get a hold of herself and focus back in again. For some reason she was relieved when she didn’t see any tears on her lap.

“It’s okay,” she responded slowly. “Not anyone’s fault, or anything…”

That made her pause.

“Wait,” she looked up. “Who did this?”

Her dad didn’t answer immediately. He opened his mouth, but he was hesitant to answer.

“Dad,” her voice was harsher this time. “Who did this? Why did this happen?”

“We don’t know,” he finally relented. “Not exactly. We know the White Fang was involved, but none of its heads have made a statement or claimed involvement. There was also a woman— we don’t know who she was, other than she was posing as a student. Cinder, I think that was the first name.”

Yang’s brow went low and she looked at him.

“Cinder? But that was…” She looked off at nothing, thinking.

“What?”

“Nothing, I… I don’t know.” She kept thinking for a moment. Then she looked up again, as if she remembered something. “Do you know what happened to…”

She didn’t finish. There apparently was one other thing she hadn’t remembered yet. Her dad waited for her to continue, then prodded gently.

“To who?”

“I…” She wished she hadn’t thought of her. “Just… nevermind. Just forget it.”

“Yang, you can—”

“Please. Just forget it,” she cut him off, going back to staring out the window.

“Okay,” he nodded slowly. “If that’s what you want.”

They fell into silence again. For a while, they simply sat there like that. Waiting again, and again, not sure what the other was waiting for. Not sure what they were waiting for either, in reality. Slowly, Taiyang decided to stop waiting. He went to break the silence, but by the time he opened his mouth, Yang already broke it.

“Dad, I think I’d like to be alone.”

“I… okay,” he said, standing. “Alright, just… just let me know if you need something, okay?”

She didn’t answer.

Reluctantly, he began to turn. Just before he stepped out, he stopped in the doorway and looked back at her.

“Yang, you’re going to be okay. I know you will,” he said.

And he believed it, too. He believed in her. He believed in how strong she was, and in what she could do. But looking back at her, as she stared down at her arm— her only arm— while it rested in her lap… He couldn’t help but feel a crack in his heart. All he could do now was to be there for her. Even if it would make that crack grow larger. Finally, he turned and walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Yang could feel her eyes starting to dampen again.

 

— — —

 

Neo wasn’t really sure how long she wandered the wreckage for. Time seemed to fade to the back of her mind. Everything did. The air smelled like sulfur and blood, but she stopped noticing that after some time. The bodies were still in the street, but they were fewer and far between. Some of them were recovered by search parties. Others, eaten by the Grimm. Either way, the results were the same. The bodies were gone. Mostly. By the end of it, she was almost worried that her skin would turn gray from all the ash. But only almost. That faded to the back of her mind, too, and so anything more than “almost worried” would have been a distant memory.

Throughout her mindless wandering, she tended to avoid any of the people that came by. It wasn’t really intentional, it just seemed to happen. Maybe it was instinct, maybe it was reflex. She didn’t really think about it. All she knew was that there were rescue workers, Huntsman, Huntresses, and scavengers. Plus the occasional lonesome soul, presumably going about the same personal business as Neo. Whichever, whoever, whatever, it didn’t matter. She avoided all of them regardless.

There were a few times she cut it a little close. One Huntress seemed to pick up her trail, because she started following found Neo. They must have been good, too, because picking up Neo’s trail was hard, even when she was trudging along mindlessly. Luckily, Neo was still better. Another time, when she was sleeping, there was a scavenger that almost found her. Too bad for them she was a restless sleeper, because otherwise they might have  _actually_ found her. Or maybe that was lucky for them, then.

Then there was that rescue party. Neo had been particularly hungry that day, and there was a can of beans that she was trying to squeeze open. Maybe she was louder than she thought, because she turned around and saw a woman standing in front of her. The worker tried to ask her something— something about her parents, it sounded like— but she wasn’t really listening. Normally fight wins out over flight, but she was tired and she just wanted to eat. Although, after she ran away, she realized she dropped the can. Later on she came back, because she didn’t find anything else to eat for the rest of the day. The woman was gone, but the can was there. It was open, and the beans were still inside.

Some more time passed. It definitely must have been multiple days, but she hadn’t bothered to keep track of how many. Maybe two, maybe five, maybe ten. Again, she didn’t really think about it. At one point she ended up on the main part of Beacon’s campus, near the tower. After wandering around there for a while, she came across a building that looked like it used to be one of the dining halls. For whatever reason, she never tended to notice she was hungry until she there actually might be food nearby. It took some effort, but eventually she found a doorway that actually wasn’t entirely caved in.

Normally, she would’ve been a little surprised by how intact the interior seemed to be. Most of the tables were broken, the windows were shattered, and there were quite a few holes in the roof, but otherwise it managed to survive pretty well. But this wasn’t  _normally,_ not by a longshot, so she didn’t really notice anything abnormal about it. Instead, she just tried to find the kitchen. Some of the food was molding over, and even the ones that weren’t didn’t look particularly appetizing. But food was food. That was something she learned at a very young age.

Carrying an armful of rock-hard bread, some rotting apples, and a particularly ugly piece of meatloaf, she went to leave. She just started to make her way back through the dining hall when she kicked something that actually managed to catch her attention, for once. At first, she thought it was some strange piece of rancid meat, but that was wrong. It was something more… more human, rather than an animal— certainly never meant to be eaten. A severed limb— an arm, she quickly figured out. It took her another few moments to notice some other recognizable traits about it. Then she tilted her head and thought to herself, _Oh._

She guessed Yang didn’t make it out in one piece, either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter 7, and the end of the "Prologue". It's slightly longer, in comparison to the other chapters, so hopefully that doesn't mean I missed more mistakes in my editing. I kind of hope to make future chapters longer as well, closer to this length, since I'll be working with much less of the stuff from the show. I'll be doing a lot more inventing for the story from this point onward, which I'm happy about.
> 
> As always, feel free to leave any feedback you'd like, whether it's to tell me you loved it or to tell me it's awful, and the worst thing you've ever read. Seriously, all feedback or criticism is welcomed- wanted, even. Anyways, I hope to come back with Chapter 8, the first chapter of the next section, in the next couple weeks. Hopefully you'll enjoy this one in the meantime, and thanks for reading!


	8. Cold & Hungry

Part One: The Black Vale

_“You must not be alone; for to be alone is to be full of fears and alarms.”_

 

**VIII**

**_Cold & Hungry_ **

— — —  

_“Real things in the darkness seem no realer than dreams.”_

_— — —_

Winter had come quickly. Quicker than normal, in a place like Patch. The cold and frost rarely began this soon, if ever at all. If this was happening in Vale, then Yang could only imagine how hard things must be in Mistral or Atlas. After all, there’s not much else for her to do at the moment. Besides imagine.

Of course, she didn’t.

Leaves fell from their trees while blankets of white blew over across the land, and Yang watched it all from her bed. It reminded her about the times she and Ruby used to go out in their youth to play in the snow. Snowball fights, building snowmen and snow forts, and whatever fun little games they could think up. All of that was so far away, now. In retrospect, it was kind of funny when you think about it. Winter, the long-dreaded season of death and despair since the dawn of life, as fun. A playground of pneumonia, dead crop, and frostbite. Yang wondered how many times they nearly experienced disaster without even realizing, when they went out to play in the snow. Maybe it almost happened once or twice. Maybe they had been inches from death on more than one occasion. Or maybe Yang was just reading into it a little too much.

Outside, the snow began to fall again. It was light at first, but then Yang felt the wind whip up against the roof and the snow outside became thicker, icier. Still watching, she sat in her bed for a while longer. The window was on her right, so she made sure to keep her head up and staring straight. When she first started out, it was hard to resist letting her gaze drop to her shoulder— and what wasn’t attached to it. Time passed and she got more used to it. The trick was to just not pay any attention to it. The more you thought about it, the realer it would become. Right now, it was better when things weren’t real. That’s how she thought about it, at least.

After a little while, Yang turned and silently climbed out of bed. She didn’t know what time it was— time lost some of its meaning, recently— but she at least knew that she hadn’t eaten anything today. She might have been lost in darkness, but being hungry still sucked. _Feeling_ hungry. It reminded her that everything was still real. That she was still alive. Those feelings had to be rectified. Then she could go back to bed.

Barefoot, she walked down the hallway to the kitchen. The floor was cold, but that was fine. Cold was better than hot, right now. Colder seemed closer to nothingness than hot did. Yang had some first hand experience with that, after all.

The house felt so empty. Dad was at work, and Ruby… Ruby was dust knows where, headed off to Mistral with her friends. Even Zwei had been sleeping a lot lately, when he normally would be with Yang. She guessed that was her fault. Whatever. She stepped into the kitchen and walked over to the cabinets. Reaching up, she could feel her ribs pressing against her skin. Without looking, she knew they were visible and protruding beneath her breast. Just because she didn’t like feeling hungry didn’t mean she bothered to eat a whole lot. Lazily, she scanned the boxes and cans on the shelves. There were a lot of options; beans, pasta, vegetables, fruit, and to be sure some chicken or something in the fridge.

She sighed.

_Nothing to eat but cereal._

Standing on her toes to reach far enough back, she grabbed a box, then a bowl, then a spoon. Milk didn’t seem important, so she skipped that step. Once she had everything together, she sat at the counter and stared at the bowl for a while. Her stomach growled a few times, but she ignored it. It was always hard to actually start doing something, even when you’re sitting in front of it with nothing else to do. Finally, she took in a silent breath and picked up the spoon.

Except she didn’t.

The spoon was on her right side. There wasn’t really anything there to pick it up. Oops. Guess she forgot.

Suddenly she didn’t feel like eating anymore.

So she didn’t. She sat there for a little while, and then picked up the bowl and dumped it in the trash. The empty dish went in the washing machine, and she put the spoon back in the drawer. Not like she used it. She was on her way back to her room when the front door swung open and a gust of snow whipped by.

“Hey, Yang,” her dad smiled at her when he saw her. He always smiled more when he saw her out of bed.

“Hey dad,” her response was tired and flat.

“Would you mind lending me a hand? I’ve got some groceries—”

Something made him stop.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever,” she shrugged.

“That’s not what I—”

“Dad,” she said, staring at him. “Whatever.”

“I… Okay,” he said finally, sighing faintly.

As he started to come inside again, she walked over. There were a few bags sitting on the front stoop, and he didn’t quite have enough hands for all of them. She reached down to grab the nearest one.

“That’s okay, I can manage,” Taiyang tried to stop her.

“You just asked me—”

“I know, but I can—”

“Just let me help,” she started to heat up.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to—”

“Dad, stop,” she voice started to rise. “I can help with groceries, I’m not worth—”

As quickly as her anger flared up, it vanished. Her voice faded to silence, and she stood there for a moment. Slowly, she turned and walked away.

“Yang, wait.” He dropped the groceries on the floor and chased after her.

When he got within reach, he put a hand on her shoulder and stopped her.

“Yang, I’m sorry,” he spoke earnestly. “I didn’t mean to say anything like that.”

For a moment she just stared at him, and he had a chance to take in everything about it. Her cheeks were gaunt, and her skin was pale. The golden locks of hair that she had always cared for were mangy and uncombed. She was thin, thinner than he could ever remember seeing her. And her eyes. Normally so vibrant, glowing mixes of lilac and lavender. They were dull, practically colorless. Lifeless. He almost couldn’t look at her at all. But then, that would be even worse than everything he was looking at right now.

“I’m sorry, Yang,” he said again.

“Stop. Please, just stop,” she shook her head as she spoke weakly. “Stop saying that. Stop apologizing.”

“Yang, I—”

“I’m fine, okay? Just,” she looked away. “Just let me be. Stop… stop acting like it’s important.”

“Yang…”

She didn’t respond. After a moment, she slipped out of his grasp and started heading for her room again.

“Yang, I...” He paused as she looked back at him. “I got your favorite chili. Have you eaten yet?”

She stared at him for a moment. Slowly, she started to nod.

“I just made some cereal.” That wasn’t technically a lie.

“Is that enough?”

“I’m fine,” she nodded again.

Then she turned and walked away, back down the hallway, and into her room. He watched as she went, and then stood there for a while. Finally, he turned and collected all of the bags. As he started to put away the groceries, he looked down the hallway. The door to her bedroom was shut and silent. He stared at it helplessly.

Maybe he was starting to understand how she was feeling.

 

— — —

 

The snow crunched under Neo’s boots as she trudged through. It came nearly up to her knees, although that wasn’t necessarily impressive. Still, that didn’t make it any easier for her to struggle through. Not when she was lugging things along with her, either. Under her arm was a large bag of food, nearly as tall as her torso. It still hadn’t occurred to her to check what was inside of it, although she could smell peanuts. There wasn’t a wealth of time to look in it, after all. Once she stole it, she needed to make sure she got out as fast as she could. Trouble was the last thing she needed right about now.

Shivering, she used her free hand to pull her pink scarf, also stolen, tighter around her neck. Rural life wasn’t exactly the kind of life she was used to. Cities got cold, but at least the snow was usually cleared out for the most part. Out here in the countryside, though? Most of the roads were still coated in frost and snow. No work crews were ever going to be too keen on going out into the less populated areas, and especially not when there’s still an abundance of work to do in the city itself. The damages of the Fall were still being seen, after all. And for all the experiences Neo had, and all the day-dreaming she’d done, this was the longest she’d ever spent outside of more urban areas. Right now she wasn’t even completely isolated from civilization, and still this felt like no-man’s land to her.

Sighing, she saw her breath billow out from her face and float up into nothingness. Just a little bit longer down this road, and she’d be able to get out of the snow. All she had to do is make sure she kept to her little trail. The snow had mostly covered her footprints again, but she still had the pathway memorized. Soon she’d reach the woods, and even covered in snow the road would be obvious from there. For a moment she paused to adjust one of her boots. They were still the same ones she’d been wearing in the city, and she was starting to regret that. They were sturdy, but she could also feel the icy water damping through the material. At least she picked up a coat during her scavenging. A hat would be nice though. Her cheeks were nearly as pink as her hair, and the scarf wasn’t enough of a deterrent apparently. Of course, she did have a hat, but she couldn’t exactly wear it. Not in the snow, at least. It was in such a feeble state already, after going through a Grimm’s belly.

The woods came over her slowly. It became easier to move when she was beneath the treetops, but not by a significant amount. Occasional pellets of ice or snow would fall down from the branches, and she made careful notice to avoid any of them. She was getting closer to the clearing now. Only a few more minutes. Then again, a few minutes could be a long time, as she’d learned. It only took a few minutes to think about something that you didn’t want to think about. Only a few seconds, really. A few seconds, and something that wasn’t real could become real. Or something that was real could be lost among the things that weren’t. At the moment, Neo would probably prefer the latter. A few seconds was a lot more painful if she was thinking about—

A faint whirring sound through the air pulled her out from her thoughts. Ducking to her side, a bladed metal object whizzed past and off into the forest behind her. There was a sound of animal-like calls up the slope from where the attack had come. She spun on her heel to face it and gripped her parasol dangling at her hip. A rough, ugly voice came from between the trees.

“Fresh meat!”

The source, a man, came out from the trees. Wearing thick leathers and an armored chestpiece, he had a surgeon’s mask pulled over his mouth. It was spray-painted the same chrome silver as the chestpiece. Even though she couldn’t see his mouth, she could tell that he was smiling.

Neo snarled at him. Just as she was about to pull out her weapon, he raised his hand as if to catch something. Her eyebrow cocked and her ears perked. Faintly, she could hear the whirring sound coming back. Turning, she saw the weapon— a bladed boomerang, of some kind, flying back at her. With barely any time to react, she raised her bag of food and blocked with it as best she could. Even still it knocked her off her feet and ripped a hole in the bag. Peanuts started to spill out into the snow beneath her.

“Well, what do we got here, huh?” He caught the boomerang and started his way down the slope.

Shaking off her daze, she jumped to her feet and growled. When he didn’t stop, she saw what was happening behind him. Several other bandits emerged from the trees, all brandishing weapons. One descended from the trees above, aiming down the sights of a rifle at her. She had no idea where they came from, but she didn’t think much about it either. Probably just some freaks looking to expand territory after the Fall, or something of that sort.

She tried to reach for her parasol and found nothing. It was in the snow, a foot or so in front of her. Her eyes darted around wildly between her weapon, the man approaching her and the half-dozen or so bandits waiting behind him. After a brief moment of hesitation, she lunged for her weapon. The man’s foot came down onto the umbrella hard, stopping her from lifting it. He grabbed her by the back of the neck. Faintly, she grunted when he yanked her back hard. The grip forced her to look up at him as he stared down at her.

“She’s a small one, eh?” He shouted back to the people behind him.

“Not enough meat on her bones!” Someone shouted back.

“Yeah, guess she won’t taste so good after all,” he responded. They all laughed.

Neo snarled at him again, and he gripped her neck harder. The people behind him raised their weapons, but relaxed when he raised his other hand up. Slowly, they started to lower them all again.

“Relax,” he spoke to her with a voice that was snide and the opposite of relaxing. “We ain’t really people-eaters. Just a little joke, eh?”

Baring her teeth at him, she tried to shake loose again. His grip was like a vice. It wouldn’t even budge as she tried to move. The man’s gaze started to lower.

“But,” he moved his boomerang hand forward, running it along the chest of her jacket. “I can maybe think of some… other uses, you might have.”

The pressure behind the blade raised slowly, beginning to cut through her coat. Suddenly, she grew still. She could sense the way his smile grew, beneath that mask. After a moment, he turned and looked at the people behind him.

“What do you say, bo—” He cut himself off with a sharp grunt.

Abruptly, he found himself with Neo’s knee in his groin. His grip loosened and he began to stumble, but she caught him by the arm. Pulling him back, she ripped the boomerang out of his hand and spun him. Next thing he knew, he was leaning back with his own weapon pressed against his neck. Everyone else raised their weapons again. Neo was gambling. If he’s had his aura unlocked, then it would most certainly be active right now. In that case, this would be no more immediately threatening than a tree branch. Not to mention that no one would be too worried about firing off a couple of shots the way of their own man.

“Okay, okay,” he put up his hands. “Let’s be calm, alright? Calm, everyone. Calm.”

Silently, she let out a breath.

Sometimes gambling pays off.

Not that she was out of the woods yet. Using her foot, she kicked up her own weapon and caught it before hooking it on her belt. Then, with her free hand, she grabbed her bag of food. Some more things came out of the rip, but there wasn’t any time to worry about that. Step by step, she forced him along and stared down the rest of his people. Keeping her ears open, she kept close attention to behind her as well. An attack from behind could ruin all her efforts quite quickly.

“You're not gettin’ away from us, y’know,” he said to her. “Not a chance, sweetheart. Not one.”

With a growl, she pushed the blade closer to his neck and he leaned his head back even further.

“I’m just sayin’,” he said.

Inching along, she dragged her feet through the snow as best she could. The air around them seemed just as solid as the ice beneath them. At one point a bandit started to step forward. She merely pushed the weapon close enough to draw some blood, and that put all of those ideas to rest. The two of them crawled along step by step, making progress slowly but surely. Eventually, the rest of the bandits began to fade away into the green and white of the forest. Glancing back, the edge of the woods grew nearer and nearer. Finally, she stopped. It was looking like a better time than any to start to run now.

“Hey, now, why don’t we—”

Without a second thought, she cut his throat and dropped him to the ground along with the boomerang. Crimson seeped into the snow, staining it red. It spread along the frost like the grains of a flower petal. For a moment, she stared at it. Then she turned tail and bolted down the road, through the cold and ice as quick as she could. She ran and ran and ran some more, panting hot breaths of pale air into the faded skies. Soon she could see her destination. A small, quaint little town, without any sort of shop or market for nearly miles. The closest of which she just came from. Through the back entrance, she climbed into the unfurnished, unfinished little building that she’d been calling home for the past few days. The stone floors were cold and drafty, and the walls were basically paper. Even so, it was better than any of the alternatives so far.

Letting out a deep breath, she dropped to the floor, leaning back against the wall just beneath the window. On the other side of the room was her little sleeping bag, and her select few belongings. A bottle, a map, and a small bag with one of her notebooks inside. A half made origami rabbit was laying beside it. And, of course, Roman’s cane leaned against the wall, his beaten and tattered hat hanging from the top. She sighed and looked to the bag of food beside her. It was nearly empty, now. All that effort, and for what? A few pears and an empty sack of peanuts? Brilliant.

She sighed and stood, taking out one of the pears and biting into it. As she ate, she made her way over to her sleeping bag and dropped down onto hit.

_Time to try again._

She pulled the map over to her and started searching for her next option. There was another market to the south, but that would involve going through the same forest again.

_Not interested._

The one to the east was the next closest, but it was in too populated an area. Too much of a risk of being spotted, since it wasn’t crowded enough for it to be an advantage.

_Next._

None to the west, but there was one to the north. A bit of a ways away, sure, but she figured she could manage. Besides, it was close to another place she could probably start a new hideout. A little town.

_Sounds like a pla—_

Then something about that little town caught her eye. Its name— she knew that name. Where did she know that name from? It wasn’t like she’d ever been there before. Did Roman mention it? No, that wasn’t right. Someone else did. Who, though? Emerald? Mercury? Certainly not Cinder. Who else…

Right. Patch. That would be Yang.

Sitting there, legs criss-crossed and the snow still melting out of her hair, she thought. She worked through it all in her head, going over everything carefully and closely. Finally, after a long while, she looked up and stared out the window. Then she glanced back at Roman’s cane and hat.

 _Am I going to?_ She wondered to herself wordlessly.

Her gaze dropped back down to the map.

_Yes, I think I am._

Maybe it was time that they got some revenge, for this whole mess.

 

— — —

 

A blizzard was raging on outside, wild and loud, and Yang was sitting alone on the couch watching TV. Although she wasn’t really watching, she was more staring at the screen idly while it just so happened to be on. And she wasn’t technically alone, either, since Zwei was curled up at the foot of the couch. Regardless, winter was in full force outside but she was inside and fine. Not fine, really, because she was never particularly fine anymore, but physically speaking she was alright. Well, excluding the obvious.

Okay, so maybe none of that really was true after all. But that’s all semantics.

The point was that she was sitting on the couch while the cold took over the whole world around her. The fireplace was lit and crackling, and there was a cup of hot cocoa sitting on the coffee table in front of her. It wasn’t going to be hot for much longer, considering she’d barely drank any of it yet. But at least she made it. That’s something. And she wasn’t sitting in her room in the dark anymore, either. So that’s progress, too.

It didn’t feel like progress, though. Not to her. She was going through the motions, making the physical effort for the most part, but that was just it. It was only physical. She was _just_ going through the motions, and nothing else. Sure, she might’ve looked a little better from the outside, but she sure as hell didn’t feel any better. And it wasn’t as if she even looked significantly better, either. Just a little better. Which posed the question, for what? It wasn’t like anyone was seeing her, so why did she need to _look_ better? The only person who ever saw her was her dad, and she wasn’t dumb enough to think that he was actually gonna fall for this ruse. They both knew how she _really_ would look if she was better. Glowing, lively. Golden. That certainly wasn’t this.

Sinking further into the couch, she sighed.

 _Probably better off not thinking about it,_ she decided.

With some effort, she got to her feet. It was starting to improve, but her legs still felt weak. This was the least she’d used them since forever. The last time she could remember was when she hurt her ankle in grade school. They told her to stay off it for a day, and that she wouldn't be able to run for a week or so after. That felt like hell to her, back then. Nothing would make her shut up about it. How long has it been now? Since she last ran, that is. Weeks, probably. Months, even. And she hasn’t even complained once. Maybe that’s a different kind of progress. Or maybe not.

Shaking her head, she turned off the TV and headed off to the bathroom. A shower could do her good, hopefully. There was still a slight wobble when she walked. Something about her balance was off. It was almost as if an entire part of her body was missing from one side. Oh, wait.

For someone who avoided thinking about her injury as much as possible, she sure found a way to think about it a lot.

“Whatever,” she muttered to room.

There wasn’t really anyone to say it to. Dad had left a day or so ago, to help out one of the nearby settlements. Another Grimm breach, or something. On his way back was when the blizzard first whipped up, so he had to stop and wait it out. As soon as it ended, he’d be back. Of course, that’s not really the way Yang thought about it. Part of her half expected him to not come back at all. It was a ridiculous thought, but it wouldn’t really surprise her at this point. Seemed pretty much in line with everything else, to be honest. So here she was, alone in their house aside from the dog, waiting for nothing much in particular except maybe for the roof to cave in.

She tried to shake that thought off.

_Yeah, let’s just take that shower._

Not bothering to close the door behind herself, she stepped into the bathroom and began to undress. The pants were easier, so she started with those. All she had to do was unbuckle and just let them fall. Underwear was similar, and she didn’t bother wearing socks. The shirt was a bit more complicated. It was hard to get out of everything with just one hand. A minute or so of struggling, though, and she had it off. The sports bra was slightly easier, but not by much. Eventually she got that off as well. Now that she was naked, she did her best to not look in the mirror. Then she did, surprising all of no one.

The person— the _thing_ that looked back at her… she hated it. It was weak, thin, ugly. There were scars on her body that hadn’t been there before. Small ones, that she must have gotten somewhere during the Fall. And of course, then there was the big one. This thing— it wasn’t her. And yet here it was, staring back at her, some awful, nightmarish reflection that was perfectly real. Now maybe you can see why she likes to pretend it isn’t, so much.

After a while, she was able to tear her eyes away from it. One foot after the other, she climbed into the shower and turned it on. Normally, she would turn the water all the way hot. Heat made her body feel nice, warm, and clean. The hotter the better, in most cases. It made her feel invigorated. Strong. Naturally, she turned the water all the way cold this time around.

She just stood in the shower for a long time, letting the icy water wash over her. It was cold enough that she was shivering, but that didn’t really bother her. Or rather, it did bother her, but that was sort of the point. Eventually she started to clean herself. First, her hair. Her fingers ran through it slowly, and she could feel the knots and frayed ends. Her pride and joy. A year ago she would’ve killed someone, if her hair was like this. Now, well. After a while longer she moved on to the rest of her body. There were visible gaps in between her ribs, and she stopped as she went over them. It made her wonder how much weight she’d lost. Then she stopped wondering, because she decided it didn’t really matter a whole lot. Once she finished cleaning, she stood in the cold again for just a bit more time.

Finally, she turned to climb out of the shower. As she left she nearly slipped, but she was able to catch herself on the wall of the tub. Or she would have been, had she used the arm that was still actually there. So she didn’t nearly slip, she _did_ slip. She wasn’t sure how long she just sat there, on the floor. It was probably a few minutes. Sitting there didn’t make her feel any better, but it wasn’t like she had anything else to do. Once she was on the floor, she just… didn’t really want to move, anymore. The will wasn’t there, plain and simply put. There was a minute where she thought about just laying down there and never getting up at all. She didn’t even need to cry. Something about crying just seemed like too much work, at this point. For another minute, she thought about maybe doing something else, while she was in the tub.

Something eventually made her get up, though. Something made her get out and start to dry off. Something made her pull the towel around herself and turn to go get dressed again. It wasn’t particularly obvious what that something was. Maybe it wasn’t really anything in specific at all. Maybe it was the thought of her father coming back home and finding her lying there, lifeless and gone. Maybe it was the thought that there were better ways to end it all, than sitting in a bathtub. Or maybe it was the young woman standing in the doorway in front of her when she turned to leave the bathroom.

It probably wasn’t, all things considered. Yang didn’t even know she was there initially. But still. It’s fun to think about.

“P… Polly?”

The shorter woman was standing there, staring at her. The front door was open, and snow had started to blow inside. Her body seemed to sway slightly, and then Yang noticed what a mess she was. There were giant rips in her flimsy winter jacket, like claw marks. There was a scarf hanging loosely from her neck, torn down the middle. A bag dangled from her shoulder, swinging in the faint wind from outside. Her face was pale and tired, and there were signs of frost across her. Her black hair was coated in snow, dirt, and blood. There was some blood on the rest of her as well. One of her hands clutched her waist tightly, and the other hung at her side uselessly. If you didn’t know any better, you might actually guess that Yang was doing better than her ex, right now.

“What are you…” Yang could barely will herself to speak. “What’re you doing here?”

Polly let out a sharp wince in pain as she raised the dangling arm up to speak.

 _“Here to…”_ She struggled through, signing word by word.

The hand that signed was stained a damp red.

_“Help you…”_

With that, she fell forwards, flat on her face, straight to the floor.

 

— — —

 

Far off, somewhere hidden and deep, where distance is no longer measured and time is a word without purpose, the needle-like obsidian spires of the Witch’s castle rose way up and pierced the fabric of the sky. Sky that was no longer bound to one single color and yet remained colorless nonetheless. The towers ripped through the void the same as always, unafflicted by starless night and sunless day alike. Ebony pools shimmered down below like pitch black liquid glass, spawning Grimm from their depths. The dark shaded crags encircled the castle, spreading wider and higher the further they grew. Among them, not a single sign of life would be found. Only inside the castle was there any breath of life, and even then it was fleeting.

And way up, high above it all at the very tip of the fortresses’ spear to the heavens, sat Salem, in her dark crystalline throne. Her arm was up, elbow pressed against the armrest, as she leaned her cheek into her palm. Shadowy eyes stared out of porcelain sockets watching the man who stood before her.

“The boy,” the man said, his voice calm and refined, with a faint hint of foreign that made him pronounce his Ds and roll on his Rs. “Adam. He does not understand why he was asked to leave the girl alive.”

“It is not his place to understand,” Salem responded dismissively.

The man stuck out his hands, the sleeves of his dark black cloak hanging low from his wrists. The skin of the wrists was pale, though not as pale as the woman for whom he was audience. There was a slight tinge of blue in it, as well, that seemed to particularly shine in his bald scalp.

“Indeed so, mistress,” he said with a smile. “But even so, loyalty is a valuable thing. One that needs preserving.”

“Power can preserve loyalty. Fear can preserve loyalty. You aren’t asking me to preserve his loyalty. You’re asking me to preserve his trust.”

“Perhaps I am,” he bowed his head slightly.

“Trust,” Salem took an interest in examining her nails, at some sudden whim. “Is of no use to me.”

“I would not disagree with that, I would not,” he shook his head. “But then this is why I speak on this with you.”

“Explain,” she said. Still, nothing drew her eyes back to the man before her.

“It is merely as you say, my queen. Trust is of no use,” he took a step forward and lifted his own head higher. “But loyalty is. And why waste power and fear on those whose loyalty can be preserved with mere words?”

Slowly, Salem lowered her hand. Gazing out the window of her throne room, she thought for a moment. Then, still without looking to him, she opened her mouth once again.

“What would you suggest, then? Speak freely now, dear Barlow.”

“Yes, mistress,” the man, Barlow, smiled wider, showing his stained yellow teeth. “Simply tell him all that he must know. Allow me to give him his explanation. He thrives most when he believes he is in control. That is when he is most useful to us. To you.”

For another moment, she pondered. Then, at long last, she turned her eyes to him once more. All the while, her thumb slowly circled around her index finger on the hand beside her head, dragging her inky nails along snowy skin.

“Tell the Taurus boy that he will have his chance at her once more. He will be allowed to make her suffer for whatever crimes he believes she’s committed against him.”

“Anything else, my queen?”

“Yes,” she said, leaning back and placing her hand to her chin. “Tell him that he will understand in due time. That to truly break someone— to truly _ruin_ someone— you must not simply bring them to their lowest. No, you bring them to their lowest, and then you allow them to recover. To think they’ve survived the worst of it.”

She paused briefly. Then, with a smile that was almost motherly, she spoke.

“Then you must show them that they haven’t even scratched the surface of true suffering.”

“Yes, mistress,” Barlow flashed his repulsive grin once more.

“Now go,” Salem flicked her wrist. “Tell him what he must know. And in time, he will serve his purpose.”

“Of course, my queen,” he bowed and turned, shuffling down the hall and towards the throne room doors.

Alone once more, Salem turned yet again to the window. She stared out, gazing across the horizon. Soaring through the air was a midnight-black bird, with its glowing maroon eyes and pale boned mask. Out from it sprouted two pairs of wings. The upper set, feathered like any bird. Meanwhile, the lower wings were membranous and bat-like. It flew straight up into the sky, then swooped deep and low, diving between the cliff-faces and rocks. It rose up once again, and Salem smiled at it with an icy warmth. One final time she spoke, without realizing Barlow had grown too far to hear.

“And she will serve hers…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's chapter 8 done. A bit later than I hoped, but I might start increasing the time between chapters anyway, just so I have more time to edit and refine. I've gone back to look at older chapters and noticed errors and things that I don't like. I'd prefer not to have to fix things retroactively, so yeah. Either way, this one is up and here now. As usual, feedback and questions are welcome. And as always, do try to enjoy if you can.


	9. Did You Miss Me?

**IX**

**_Did You Miss Me?_ **

— — —  

_“The days go on and on... they don't end. All my life needed was a sense of someplace to go.”_

_— — —_

The cold tore through Neo, skin and bone, like a rain of icicles. The flimsy, torn jacket on her back fluttered in the wind, and every time it would whip in a new direction she could feel more snow find its way onto her bare skin. There was blood seeping down her side as well, but she ignored it. One of those Grimm got a lucky shot, but not lucky enough. A little rest and she’d walk it off. There were more pressing things to deal with at the moment. Namely, the door directly in front of her, obscuring her path from going further. Just as a general guess she assumed it would be warmer on the other side. But she still couldn’t rush it. It would be smarter to think things through before getting inside. To make sure she knows exactly what she’s going to do. What she’s going to say.

Stepping off the doorstep, she looked into one of the windows. It was mostly dark on the inside, partialy illuminated by the pale skylight. There was also some kind of faint, warm glow coming from the other side of the first story, although Neo couldn’t really tell what it was from where she was standing. Letting out a short breath, she turned her attention to her reflection. Her disguise was still active, and hopefully it would stay that way. Usually she was able to maintain it when she was out of aura, and even when she was unconscious. It wasn’t something she normally needed to concentrate on, and so she felt confident she could keep it up now. Still, sometimes lapses in judgment happened. It was just something she needed to be aware of.

Then she looked down. Roman’s cane was still in her hand, and his hat was in her bag. Before she could go inside, she would need to handle this. It was a safe bet to disguise her parasol, considering she’d managed that her entire time at Beacon. And she figured it would be alright to leave the hat, since she couldn’t imagine anyone would go through her stuff without any warning. The cane, though, would be a different story. It would be harder to hold onto that and make sure it stayed hidden. There was a chance she could pull it off, but it was a low one. The risk just seemed too high. Better safe than sorry, she’d long since learned.

A sharp breath slipped from her lips when she kneeled down. Cringing, she fought through the pain and looked at the cane. The once flawless ebony surface of it was getting more and more scratched by the day. Hopefully it would survive this, otherwise Neo would regret not just taking the risk. Even still, she let out a quiet sigh and shoved it down into the snow, as deep as she could get it. Then, despite the painful numbness in her fingertips, she pulled the blankets of snow back over bit by bit until the cane was hidden in the cold and the white. With another wince, she struggled to her feet and climbed back up onto the doorstep.

_Now for the moment of truth._

Because to be fair, she wasn’t technically sure this was the place yet. Of course, there was really nowhere else it could be, at this point, but that didn’t mean it was confirmed yet. It was entirely possible for her to walk inside and find exactly none of the things she was looking for, right now. But there was only one way to find out for sure. Regardless, knocking didn’t seem like the best way to go about it. Although it might have been, she wasn't totally sure. It’s not like that would have changed her method at all, anyway. And it was only once she was inside, out of the cold and past the now unlocked door, that she knew for certain that this was, in fact, the right place.

Because there she was— wearing only a towel, her blonde hair wet and flat to her scalp, and one arm hanging at her side. And before she fainted, Neo couldn’t help but think to herself,

 _She looks skinnier_.

 

— — —

 

When Neo finally woke up, the first thing she did was check her hair.

_Still black._

Only after she let out a sigh of relief did she actually look around and try to gather her surroundings. There was a fire lit and burning in the fireplace across from her, where she was laying on a couch. There were a few other seats placed around the room, all empty. In between her and the fire was a low little coffee table, with a few random things strewn about— magazines, books, coasters, remote controls, a distinctly cold looking cup of coffee. Neo shifted slightly, and she could feel her bag still pressed against her side. Right beneath it was her weapon, still disguised well enough to be unrecognizable. After a few moments, she noticed a noise— one aside from the howl of the wind outside and the crackle of the fire inside. A soft but constant little panting noise. Sitting on the floor besides the couch was Zwei, staring up at her with his tongue hanging out and doing what she could only imagine was the dog equivalent of smiling. Smiling back, she started to sit up and felt a slight strain on her chest and hip.

When she lifted her shirt partway, she could see the large gashes from her encounters during her trip here. They were still red and ugly, but the wounds were already starting to heal now that her aura was back up and regenerated. Just as she suspected, they weren’t nearly deep enough to cause permanent damage. They’d probably scar, though, but that wasn’t something she would worry too much about. Scars are common in both her upbringing as well as her line of work, and she learned early that even her disguises wouldn’t conceal them. So she’d just have to live with that. Like she always did. Shaking her head, she carefully began to turn in her seat. She swung her feet onto the floor and looked down when she felt her bare soles meat the carpet beneath her.

“Your boots were dirty,” a familiar voice emerged from the side of the room. “I threw them in the sink to soak for a little while.”

Neo looked over and saw Yang, leaning against the doorframe. Behind her was what looked like a dining room or something of that sort. Evidently, Yang still wasn’t aware of Neo’s actual identity. Good. Hiding a pained grimace, she started to stand up from the couch. But not before Yang walked over and got in her way.

“Sit back down,” Yang said, and based on her expression Neo surmised that regardless of who Yang thought she was, she still wasn’t exactly happy to see her.

Rolling her eyes, Neo dropped back onto the couch.

“So, Polly,” Yang put her hand on her hip.

 _“What?”_ Neo responded, giving Yang a dry, almost bored look.

“Mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?”

Neo shrugged.

Yang sighed and ran her palm over her face.

“Why do you have to make things so much more difficult…”

Neo just shrugged again and started to stand once more.

“No,” Yang put her hand up. “I said sit. You’ve got some questions to answer, first.”

Neo groaned silently, yet animatedly.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just so hard being you, isn’t it?”

 _“I have to pee,”_ Neo signed back.

“Then talk fast,” Yang nodded. “Or hold it.”

 _“Or I could just pee here,”_ Neo shrugged again. _“Makes no difference to me.”_

“What about sleeping out in the snow, huh?” Yang leaned forward slightly. “Does that make a difference to you?”

_“Just ask me the dumbass questions.”_

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.”

 _“Heard the weather was nicer up north,”_ Neo said. _“Disappointed so far.”_

“Haha,” Yang deadpanned. “Answer the question.”

Neo looked up slightly, squinting one eye and furrowing her brow.

 _“I think I did,”_ she said, nodding.

“Before you collapsed,” Yang leaned back slightly. “You said you came here to help me.”

Keeping her sardonic face on, Neo looked off towards one of the windows.

“Maybe you can bullshit your way out of that one, yeah?”

 _“Probably,”_ Neo shrugged again, still staring out at the snow outside.

“Polly,” Yang's voice was sharp and flat. “Tell me what you’re doing here.”

Slowly, Neo turned to look at Yang again. Two bitter glares met each other, and Neo almost thought for a moment that she could see the same old Yang in there. But the feeling faded quickly, and Neo could tell just exactly how different Yang looked. It wasn’t just physical. It wasn’t just the missing arm, or the lost weight, or the messy hair, or the colorless eyes, or the tired face. There was something deeper that was just… off. There was something wrong, something distant and far away about her. Her heart wasn't worn across her sleeve, like it normally was. It was like she was inside out. It was like her spirit and soul had sunken deep inside and hidden themselves, leaving a cold shell of a body on the surface. She reminded Neo of herself, a little.

Except for Neo, this was normal. For Yang, it wasn’t. For Yang, this was her losing the very thing that made her… well, her. That made her Yang.

 _“Like I said,”_ Neo finally responded. _“I’m here to help you.”_

“Help me with _what,_ exactly?” Yang spat back.

 _“I’ll explain later,”_ Neo stood once again. _“For now, I’d like to use the bathroom.”_

“Not until you give me _something,_ Polly,” Yang put her hand out. “Help me with what?”

Neo rolled her eyes and gave an exaggerated shrug.

 _“Everything, obviously,”_ she shook her head. _“But revenge, mostly.”_

 

— — —

 

Yang sat, staring, in the chair right adjacent to the couch. Waiting, her foot bounced on the floor rapidly, almost rhythmically, although it didn’t quite match up perfectly with the constant low whisper of the icy winds along the walls outside. Maybe if she changed up her speed a little bit, there would be a bit more of a harmony going on. Or maybe if she took into account the snapping of the fireplace, the melody would be clearer.

Whatever. These are the little things that Yang thought about when she’s got nothing to do but wait, apparently. All the waiting she’s been doing lately made her realize that. And, as it turns out, realizing that did nothing to make her want to keep on doing it. Or maybe that was just the way she felt right now. Who knows. It didn’t seem to matter a whole lot, at the moment. The girl in front of her, sitting on her couch, was the much more important thing that she had to worry about. Which, of course, made it all the more frustrating when she forced Yang to wait.

With a towel over her shoulder, she was pulling back on her dark hair, shining damply in the gray skylight through the windows, and tying it behind her head in a ponytail. Somehow a short little bathroom trip to go pee had turned into a shower, and not a short one either. Because waiting, obviously. Not that Yang could necessarily blame her, seeing how much of a mess she was when she came inside. Anyone would want to just soak in the spray of hot water for an hour or so, if they looked like that. Of course, could and would aren’t necessarily intertwined all the time, so Yang chose to blame her anyway. And regardless of whose fault it was, of who was right and who was wrong, Yang was going to continue to stare at the girl across from her with narrow eyes and tight jaws until she was given some kind of valid explanation for this whole situation.

So.

Where should she begin?

“You feeling nice and clean now?” Yang spat.

The shorter girl just wagged her hand side to side.

_“So-so.”_

“You satisfied with yourself, yet?”

A shrug.

 _“Maybe a little,”_ she responded.

“So are you just about ready to start talking, then?”

Another shrug.

_“I guess.”_

“Then _talk._ Now.” Yang leaned back in her chair. Briefly, she tried to cross her arms over her chest, and then realized that that wasn’t going to work. Instead she just settled with just laying her left arm on her legs and letting it close in a loose fist.

_“What do you need to know?”_

“Everything.”

 _“Too bad,”_ Polly took the towel off of her shoulder and tosses it onto the coffee table across from her. _“Can’t tell you everything.”_

Yang sighed and rolled her eyes, letting her body untense slightly. Turning, she stared off towards nothing in particular on the other side of the room. Blinking, her eyelids seemed to close and open as though they were heavy, and she started to look less bitter and more worn out than anything. Finally, she shook her head.

“I’m not helping you,” she said. “Not with some bullshit revenge quest.”

 _“I didn’t say you were,”_ now Polly’s eyes were rolling. _“I said I was helping you.”_

Yang chuckled tiredly.

“Oh, yeah?” She smiled, but not happily. “And what revenge do you think I want?”

 _“How about the guy who took your arm?”_ Polly leaned forward. _“Just for starters.”_

Yawning, Yang turned to fully face her again.

“Frankly, Polly?” She scratched her forehead as she spoke. “I don’t really give a damn about him.”

_“We both know that’s not true.”_

“Do we?” Yang shrugged. “That’s news to me.”

 _“You’re not just going to let someone walk away,”_ Polly pointed at Yang’s right shoulder. _“After doing that to you.”_

“Hmmm,” Yang pretended to think for a moment. “Yeah, actually, I think I might just do that.”

Polly bit the inside of her mouth and stared at Yang. Looking back at her, Yang only chuckled coldly again.

“Stare at me all you want, doesn’t change the truth.”

After a moment, she straightened out and leaned forward.

“What, you think I’m just gonna hunt him down? Find him? Then what? Lose my other arm too? No, thanks. You go have fun with whatever you’re trying to get me to help you with. I’m not interested.”

_“Who says I’m trying—”_

“Nobody has to say anything, Polly,” Yang cut her off, her voice growing a little harsher. “It’s pretty goddamn obvious. You left me for a reason, y’know. You’d only come back if you had a reason, too. If _you_ needed _me._ Don’t pretend to be some saint or something. Even when you were my girlfriend, you weren’t exactly the most selfless person around.”

She raised an eyebrow and looked towards the ceiling slightly.

“Or were you ever really my girlfriend?” After a moment, she shrugged. “Who cares. Not like it changes where I am now, even if you weren’t.”

 _“I’m trying to help you, Yang,”_  Polly moved to the edge of her seat and clenched her fists at her sides.

“And I’m trying to tell you, Polly,” Yang leaned in a little more. “That I don’t want your help.”

Polly grit her teeth visibly.

 _“At least listen,”_ she signed emphatically.

“Oh, NOW she wants to talk,” Yang raised her arm up into the air. “There’s nothing you can convince me of. Give it a rest and save your breath.”

 _“You were a lot less difficult before, you know,”_ Polly responded.

“Yeah, well, you were always this difficult, so,” Yang slumped back in her chair again. “Welcome to my world, I guess.”

 _“You can pretend all you want,”_ Polly was nearly snarling. _“But you can’t hide it from me. I saw you. I saw what’s inside you. I know you want a shot back at him.”_

“Sorry to disappoint, but I guess you saw wrong,” Yang shook her head.

_“I didn’t.”_

“And even if you didn’t, then so what? What then, huh?” She pointed at her stump. “What am I supposed to do, like this?”

_“That’s what I’m gonna help you with.”_

Yang straight up laughed, this time.

“Yeah, are you? What are you gonna do, make me a new one out of snow? Give me a fucking break, Polly. You can’t help me, and I don’t want you to even if you could.”

She let out a deep breath and looked off at nothing again.

“I’m better off where I am now.”

 _“You might have convinced yourself of that,”_ Polly stood. _“But not me. Not just yet.”_

“Yeah, well,” she sighed. “Don’t hold your breath.”

For a few minutes, they let the crackle of the fire and whistling breezes outside take hold of the room again. Neo stood there, staring at Yang and furrowing her brow, trying to dig through her with her eyes as best as she could. The blonde was handling things a lot worse than Neo had expected. Part of her wondered before about why much of Cinder’s plans had made of focal point out of Yang, but she never did ask. Even now it didn’t seem like there was an obvious reason. Whatever the purpose of it was, though, it seemed like it was the intention to bring Yang as low as possible.

_Could she have predicted exactly this?_

Neo pondered it for a moment. Then, she narrowed her eyes and recollected her resolve.

_No. Because she wouldn’t have predicted me._

Meanwhile, Yang sat there in silence. Drearily, she focused on the shape of the kitchen tiles. Her eyes followed the cracks in between each of the tiles, tracing them and memorizing each of their patterns and locations. The distraction stole her attention from the immediate pain, and she let herself calm down gently. After a while, it took her focus long enough that she thought of something else to say.

“And what about you?” She turned to face the shorter girl after a moment. “What are you trying to get out of all this?”

Neo started to respond, but Yang put up her hand.

“And don’t try and tell me you’re just helping me,” she closed her eyes and shook her head. “I’m not stupid. There’s something in this for you, too. Just tell me what it is.”

Slowly, Neo took in a deep breath. Inhale, exhale. It was starting to seem like she would have to talk about him, despite how much she was trying to avoid it. Maybe this was the only way to get Yang’s trust.

 _“Someone I care about was taken from me at Beacon,”_ she said finally. _“Cinder is one of the people to blame.”_

“Cinder,” Yang nodded vaguely, looking at the floor. Then she looked up, her eyes cold and sharp. “Your teammate.”

Neo nodded.

“Mind explaining that?”

_“What is there to explain?”_

“Don’t play dumb,” Yang clenched her teeth. “Did you know?”

_“Know what?”_

“About the Fall. About her plan.”

Neo sighed and shook her head.

_“No.”_

Sometimes lying was the only option.

“How is that possible?”

 _“She was pretending to be someone she wasn’t,”_ Neo shrugged. _“It happens.”_

“Oh, yeah?” Yang snorted. “That just _happens,_ doesn’t it?”

 _“Just listen to me,”_ Neo took a step forward and put her hands on her hips. _“Help me. Let me help you. Stand up and fight. We’ll get back at everyone who put us here. Who did this to us. Mercury, Emerald, Cinder. The guy who took your arm. Anyone else involved.”_

She stuck out a hand towards Yang, staring down at her with hard eyes.

_“Get up, and we’ll make them all pay.”_

For a moment, Yang just sat there. She shut her eyes and bit her lip, with her head pointed towards the floor. Then she lifted her head to look at Neo. Meeting her gaze, she blinked slowly.

“No, thanks.”

With the back of her hand, she brushed Neo’s hand away and stood, turning and walking away. As she was leaving, she stopped to glance over her shoulder briefly.

“You can stay here until the blizzard blows over,” she said. “Then you’re gone.”

And with that, Yang went straight back to her room where she shut the door, leaving Neo standing alone where the only sounds were the flames, the winds, and her own quiet breath.

 

— — —

 

Yang could feel herself burning.

And not in the normal way.

It took her everything she had not to scream in pain. Kneeling on the ground, she felt like every fiber of her body was on fire. Red hot needles went straight through each and every one of her nerves slowly and deliberately. When she looked down she could see her hands— both her hands— clenched into tight fists. There was a faint grinding noise from her teeth while her jaws clamped shut tightly. Everything was black for a moment, before she realized she was just blinking. Her eyes opened again and her head tilted up. Standing in front of her, just a few yards away, was her team. They were all just standing there. Nearly motionless.

Ruby stood there with her head down low, eyes focused on the ground beneath her. Guilty. Weiss watched on in horror at Yang, on hand over her mouth, still unmoving and unacting. Pity. Blake stared for a second, a brief moment of just looking at Yang, before turning away. Weak. And Yang stayed on her knees, trapped there, unable to move any of her limbs as if there was some invisible force of resistance holding her there. Through the pain, she tried to open her mouth. To say something, to yell something, to scream something. Nothing came. Helpless. Yang could feel everything her team was feeling as they witnessed her suffering. Or maybe they could feel what she was feeling? Whatever.

Gradually, pushing with everything she had, Yang could feel her slipping from the invisible grasps. Her left arm started to rise, shaking as she lifted it. Before she could make any real progress, though, black vines lashed out from the ground and stopped her. They wrapped around her ankles and calves, then reached higher up and took hold of her arm from wrist to shoulder. They pulled down hard, dragging her into the ground, and suddenly it wasn’t ground anymore. Beneath her was liquid stone, blazing hot like magma, and she started to sink. The vines started with her legs, then her arm, until she was nearly consumed in the white hot depths. Her body faded into the darkness, and the only thing above the pit was her head— and her right arm, which didn’t seem to sink along with the rest of her. It rested on top of the molten rock like it was pure and solid, all the while the rest of her sank lower and lower. Gasping for air, she panted over and over again, in and out. In and out. Inhale, exhale.

Her gaze drifted higher and she could see that her team had vanished. Gone, disappeared in the wind. Inhale, exhale.

Looking higher, there was something hanging above her. Dangling. Something long, thin. A rope. It seemed to come from nowhere, and she didn’t know who dropped it. But it didn’t matter. It was her only hope, now. Inhale, exhale.

As she faded deeper into the void, she willed every part of her to rise. To reach up, straight up, and grip the rope. From toe to fingertip to scalp, she felt her mind fighting her own body. The stone trapped every part of her but one. Inhale, exhale.

And through all the willing, through all the pushing and forcing, it just sat there. Her arm. It was still attached to her, still connected at the shoulder. But it didn’t move. It wouldn’t. It laid out motionless like it had given up entirely, surrendering. Inhale, exhale.

So she sank, deeper and deeper, until she was consumed by pitch, suffocating black, and she was consumed in the belly of a great furnace. Her body shook once, and then it didn’t move anymore. Inhale.

That was just about when Yang woke up, breathing hard and covered in a cold sweat in the dark of her room, while the winter night raged on outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter came along much quicker than I expected. I actually get kind of annoyed when I post one sooner than I planned, because I don't want to set expectations that I'll fail to meet later on. But at the same time, I don't like waiting to post something when it's ready (at least I hope it's ready), so here it is anyway. 
> 
> As usual, the normal schpeel applies- feedback is appreciated, and I hope you enjoy. Until next time, yall.


	10. A Few Stubborn Heads

**X**

_**A Few Stubborn Heads** _

   — — —  

_“People generally see what they look for, and hear what they listen for.”_

_— — —_

Even after she woke up, Yang just sort of laid there for a while. Falling back asleep wasn’t an option, she knew that much. She never fell back asleep after the night terrors. But sleeping wasn’t the only thing she spent her time doing, when she was in bed. There were also several other fun options, such as: wishing things were different, regretting the past, feeling worthless, being silently but insufferably lonely, and the ever-present sensations of pure and utter hopelessness. And with so many fun and unique options, why would she ever come out of bed?

In fairness to her, her mind wasn’t solely overrun by the terrible and painful. There was also a wealth of boredom and simple laziness that she had at her disposal, and she took full advantage of those feelings in order to do the absolute bare minimum possible each and every day. So far that was pretty much all she focused on, to try and avoid all of the much worse things she could be doing to herself with the expanse of time that she had. And right now, it was actually going pretty well. For the most part, today hadn’t been too bad. Even in spite of being awake since the dead of night. The really bad thoughts managed to be staved off by the just regular bad thoughts, for now. It even felt like she’d managed to forget most of the awful parts of her life for a little while. Forgetting was good. That was another thing that had remained a constant for the past couple of months. And she’d gladly lay in bed and do nothing, so long as she was forgetting.

Of course, nothing good tends to last in Yang’s experience. And as sweet as a cherry is, they’re always rather short lived. 

Such is the world. 

This time, she was brought back to harsh reality by the racket that came from the kitchen. It immediately reminded her that she was, in fact, not the only person in her house at the moment. First she remembered who was there with her, then she remembered why they were there with her, and lastly she remembered the why behind the why. Everything that came before. The Fall. That was enough to finally urge her out of bed. The clock read 9:30 AM. Not like it really meant anything to Yang, but it did make her wonder how long she had been laying awake. She hadn’t bothered to check what time it was when she first woke up in the night. Maybe it had just been a couple hours or so. Maybe it had been a couple more. Maybe it had been six. Who knows?

After throwing on some clothes, she made her way to the kitchen, the loud ruckus making her grumble in unison with her stomach. And grumble her stomach did. Most reasonable people would wonder how long it had been since they last ate, if they heard their stomachs make the monstrous noises hers was making right now. But Yang most certainly did not feel like “most reasonable people” at the moment, so whether by conscious decision or subconscious choice, she also did not _act_ like “most reasonable people.” Instead, she walked down the halls, eyes baggy and red, ignoring her hunger and hoping to find a damn good reason that her guest had decided to drag her from the rare and coveted peace and quiet. A hot commodity in her life, these days. The quiet was common enough. The peace, not so much.

When she came into the kitchen, she found Polly, standing on her toes, shoving some container back into the freezer. The freezer door shutting made her hair, which was loose and let down, flutter in the air briefly. Bare feet pressed silently into the kitchen floor, and Yang couldn’t help but notice how comfortably the recently injured girl seemed to be living. Something about the way Polly moved made her glide across the floor, almost. There was a bowl sitting on the table where she finally stopped and sat down. Some observers would notice that Polly had yet to acknowledge Yang since she walked in. Yang noticed that, too. Holding in a sigh, she headed for the cabinets. Taking the time to decide on her breakfast, she settled a bowl of dry cereal. Again. It was only after she had finally taken a seat at the same table that she noticed the multi-scoop serving of chocolate and vanilla ice cream that Polly was starting to eat. A raised eyebrow, a shake of the head. It didn’t take Yang very long to stop caring about it and go back to prodding at her own bowl aimlessly.

There was a faint thumping noise on the table, and it wasn’t clear if Yang was ignoring it or genuinely didn’t notice it at all. It got louder, and the question remained. Then it was more of a pound, and ignoring it seemed like the most likely of the options. It was a slam next, and that proved the theory. Only after the table shook noticeably did Yang finally tear her eyes from her still untouched cereal and look up at the impatiently pouty girl across from her.

“What?” Yang nearly groaned as she spoke.

Polly just pointed at the ice cream. Yang looked at it, then back up. Perhaps equally impatiently, she just stared at Polly. Pursing her lips and puffing her cheeks, Polly pointed again, more emphatically this time. Rolling her eyes, this time Yang did groan.

“What?” She repeated.

_“Strawberries.”_

“Excuse me?”

_“I want strawberries.”_

Once again, Yang stared at the other woman. A faint but sudden gust of wind outside emphasized her silence while her jaw hung slightly. In turn, Polly’s jaw seemed to tighten. The silence remained. Evidently, Polly did not approve.

_“Where are your strawberries?”_

“What?’

_“Where. Are. Your—”_

“Top shelf, third cabinet,” Yang pointed. Somehow her expression shifted from confusion to exasperation very quickly, with little in the way of actual physical movements. It was mostly in the eyes. Maybe the eyebrows as well, a little bit.

“Ice cream for breakfast…” Yang muttered to herself, shaking her head and nudging her cereal idly.

Polly hopped out of her seat and over to the shelves. Of course, it should have been obvious that she wouldn’t be able to reach. And quickly, it was. Even on the tips of her toes, with one hand pressing against the counter, the shelf was just a bit too high. Polly was undeterred. Poking out her tongue slightly, she pushed as she high as she could. The cabinet door remained unmoving while her fingers wriggled and her arm batted at the air. In most circumstances, it would probably be kind of cute. At the very least, Yang would think it was. Not this time, though. It seemed hard to really care, this time. In any case, she kept watching. Unenthusiastically, but watching nonetheless. As Polly stepped back from the counter and dragged over a chair, she watched. As she climbed the back of the chair, she watched. And as she stood, balanced on the very ends of her toes, teetering in the air slightly, Yang still found herself watching. Unmoving, still, and silent. But watching. It was actually impressive, the way Polly balanced up there. It was a small thing, and she’d probably never admit it, but Yang nearly felt like she _wanted_ to be impressed by it. Like she _should_ be impressed by it. But should be and will be aren’t the same. This seems like something that’s been previously discussed.

So when Polly finally jumped down from the chair and dragged it back to the table, strawberries in hand, Yang couldn’t find it in herself to even remotely care. 

“Who even puts strawberries on ice cream, anyway?” Yang spoke almost irritably.

 _“Me,"_  Polly responded as she dropped a handful into her bowl.

Eyes rolled.

“Obviously.”

Polly shrugged.

_“You don’t have strawberry ice cream.”_

“Whatever.”

_“Strawberry is my favorite.”_

“Okay.”

_“I want more strawberries.”_

“You know,” her voice was bitter and sarcastic. “Your whole needy, self-centered schtick was a lot cuter we were actually dating.”

Polly ignored her and started eating her ice cream.

“You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Exhausting,” Yang shook her head. “And you were always this way, weren’t you? Never would get over yourself.”

_“You’re one to talk.”_

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yang’s eyes widened slightly. There was a faint heat and her body tensed up.

Polly looked up slowly. For a brief moment, she looked at Yang. One eyebrow rose as she looked. Then she returned to her ice cream.

“You—!” She felt the beginnings of a shout. Her mind raced as she looked for the words, heating up and growing tenser, eyes even wider, fists clenched and her vision—

And it was gone. Like that. With a breath. As quick as it rose, as quick as she flared, she faded. Cooling. Dampening, vanishing. A wet candle, flame so small that there’s barely a trace of smoke when it’s put out. All of it, everything, out the window and deep into the snow without a second thought. As though none of it was ever there to begin with. You could probably pretend it never had been there, and you’d live your life the same as if it truly wasn’t there at all. If you wanted to.

Neo glanced up, and she saw Yang sitting silently, sunken into herself. Like she was drifting off, far away, somewhere long forgotten. The bowl of cereal was still untouched, although the way Yang stared at it you’d think she must be interested in it. It wasn’t like she was looking anywhere else. Not up, certainly not at the girl across from her. She was pretty confident that she could drop her disguise, and Yang wouldn’t even notice. Not that she would do that, but she probably could. So for just a little while, Neo stared at her. Thinking. Trying to figure it out. If she wasn’t so frustrated with her, she would almost feel sorry for Yang. But Neo didn’t need this cold, faded person on her side, right now. Right now, she needed fire. She needed Yang. And she was going to find a way to draw her out. 

Slowly, Yang started to move again. Neo dropped her eyes back down again, before Yang could notice her staring. Silently, she picked up her uneaten bowl of cereal and tossed it, before dragging herself back off to her room.

 _Okay,_ Neo thought to herself. _So that didn’t work. Now what?_

 

— — — 

 

The day came and went in a flash. Most of it, Yang spent sleeping. Apparently she was tired after all. Hour to hour, she lay without movement, perfectly still, as if remaining motionless would somehow make the whole rest of the world fade away. Maybe if she froze, like the winter outside, it would all blur together until it melted away and she was left alone, unnoticed and unbothered by anything else for the remainder of her existence. But the world spun on, round and round, and the trains kept chugging along on the tracks of life as they always did. Somewhere, beyond all the snow and the clouds in the sky, the sun dipped and the moon rose. If you weren’t paying attention, you might not even notice the difference between night and day at all. Yang definitely didn’t. 

Inevitably, the moon drifted off as well, welcoming the sun back to the skies in the endless dance they performed, day in day out. The wind began to fade slightly, as the storm outside subsided. The snow was still heavy, and the cold was still hard, but perhaps it was more traversable, at least to some degree. Either way, the world outside was still frozen over. Things change, and all the while they stay the very same. The ice had ceased to fall, but the cold in the ground nearly made the earth itself shudder. The trees shivered lifelessly, leaves replaced by the white frost. The clouds began to part, way up above, where hundreds of miles could feel like mere inches or a thousand lightyears. Perspectives.

And when Yang woke up to the first morning glows, the rays of the sun peered through the clouds and down onto the pale lands below. They shimmered over the snowscape and reflected back every which way, until they glared through the panes and the glass straight into Yang’s face. An infinity of lightbulbs directly into her tired eyes while she lay in bed, barely conscious and already fed up with today. Outside, the sun tried, struggled, failed— beaming down and trying to melt the land, a flame too weak to drive away the dark. Or was it that the dark was too strong? At the same time, Yang rolled over in her bed. Away from the windows, where the sun at least couldn’t touch her eyes. The world had a way of getting her ticked off, right from the get-go. Maybe this time she wouldn’t even bother to get up at all. 

Loud, abrasive banging pulled her awake, out from her comfortable grave and, eventually, after some thoughtless time, followed by angry deliberation, followed by hopeless defeatism, drew her from her bed and over to the door from where she could hear the knocking.

“What do you want?” Yang didn’t waste the time to be polite.

 _“Get dressed,”_ Polly’s answer was plain and a tad too simple.

“What?” Yang was tempted just to shut the door on her face. “Why?”

_“Get moving, we have things to do.”_

“What are you talking about?”

 _“Things,”_ Polly apparently didn’t feel the need to explain. _“Come on.”_

This time, when temptation beckoned, Yang acted. With a slam and a click, the two girls now found themselves face to face with a locked door. One girl turned away from it faster than the other.

Of course, Yang underestimates her competition. As she sleepwalked back over to her bed, there was another click from behind her. The door swung open and in walked Polly, master of locks and making Yang get dressed.

“Ugh,” Yang threw her head back as she groaned, before turning to the uninvited guest. “Can’t you just leave me alone?”

 _“No,”_ Polly said, marching straight towards Yang. _“I didn’t come all this way just to let you mope around all day.”_

“I don’t care how far you came,” Yang shook her head. “Or why you came. But I do remember telling you that you were gone the moment the storm blows over. I care about that.”

_“And?”_

“Storm's blown over,” Yang pointed to the window. “In case you hadn’t noticed.”

 _“I noticed,”_ Polly stopped her march right in front of Yang. _“Although I’m surprised you did.”_

“Funny. Now are you gonna leave,” Yang clenched her fist. “Or am I gonna make you leave?”

One eyebrow rose— blonde. And another rose higher— black.

_“And how would you manage to do that? Hm?”_

Yang opened her mouth, then closed it. Then she opened it, then she closed it. And she opened it another time, before closing it once more, until she opened it one more time just to sigh.

“Just leave me alone,” she started to turn around.

A hand on her wrist stopped her. A small hand, smaller than Yang’s, but size can be deceiving. Not to mention, the hand was attached to a body with a second hand. A luxury Yang happened to not possess. So she stopped, if only to glare, and she didn’t fight back. And glare she did. Right into the green eyes staring back at her, working on a glare of their own.

_“Are you really just gonna sit around all day like this?”_

“Yes,” Yang rolled her eyes.

_“Is this what you’ve become?”_

“Yes.”

_“Just gonna let yourself rot away into nothing?”_

“Yes.”

_“And you’re okay with that?’_

Yang leaned in, nearer and nearer, until she was just a few inches away from Polly’s face, staring straight down at her. Almost squinting, she flashed her teeth and nodded the coldest of nods.

“Duh.”

With a yank, she tore her wrist from the shorter girl’s grasp and set off for her bed.

 _“Too bad,”_ Polly signed, although it was possible Yang didn’t even notice that.

In seconds, Yang found herself being pulled along against her will, out of her room and down the halls. It took a few seconds to gather herself, but she tried to shake and pull herself free. It didn’t matter. The grip was tight, and the will was indomitable. For everything she did, Polly still dragged her through the house and down to the front room.

“Get off!” Yang swung, until she realized that she didn’t have another arm to swing with. “Let go!”

Finally, they stopped. Polly let her go and turned to her stepping tightly up to Yang’s body. They were close, closer than close, so close they could feel one another’s heart if they had been searching for it. Even air would have a struggle, fitting between them. They had been this close before. Closer. Different circumstances, of course, but even still. They knew each other’s bodies, at least by feel. Everything they had done before, it had always been in the dark. In black rooms, in the dead of night, covered by the shadows the moon had made for them. In truth, Yang didn’t know, at least not in vivid detail, what Polly’s body looked like beneath her clothes. But she knew what it felt like. Every inch of it, she would know by feel. And she was sure the same was true of Polly. So they stared into each other, nearly body to body, knowing how well they could find their way around the other. And yet, at the same time, they knew as well far away those days had become, how different those times were from today. 

It made Yang feel a hate that she could barely stand.

 _“I came here,”_ Polly signed, word by word, right in Yang’s eyes. _“For you.”_

“I don’t c—”

 _“Shut up,”_ Polly snapped, and Yang couldn’t tell what was more like daggers— her eyes, or her fingers?

With a step back, Polly took in a breath. For just a moment, she held it, before setting it free back into the air around them. Then she turned her eyes back up to Yang’s.

 _“I came here because I have nowhere else to go,”_ she began. _“I came here because once, I had_ nothing. _Then I had something, finally, until it was taken from me. Now, I’m back to nothing.”_

“That’s—”

Yang started to roll her eyes as she spoke, but was cut off by a noise from Polly. It was something like a hiss, wild and animalistic.

 _“I won’t have nothing. Not again. So I’m going to get revenge,”_ she said. _“Because that’s all I have left. But I can’t do it alone. Not this time. And you’re the only person I can go to. Because that’s how it is.”_

She leaned in.

 _“And you need me. This?”_ She gestured to the room around them. _“This isn’t a life. This is killing yourself. So I’m_ going _to help you. Whether you want it or not. Because if I don’t, you’re just going to fade off, slowly, day by day, until you’re bled dry. And you’re going to help me, because it’s the only chance you have left. No one else is giving you one, are they? ‘Cause I don’t see any.”_

She leaned back out again.

 _“You need something,”_ she nodded. _“Something to fight for. Otherwise, you might as well have died at Beacon.”_

With that, folding her arms over her chest, she finished. For a time, neither moved. Neither spoke. Neither acted. They just watched each other, staring as deeply into each other as they could. Searching, hunting. Trying to find the thing they want to see. The thing they want to hear.

Eventually, Yang took a breath of her own. Her eyes rolled once again, her shoulders slumped, and she leaned back.

“That’s too bad, isn’t it?”

Polly’s arms unfolded, lowering to her sides in fists. After a second, she moved to respond, but this time Yang did the interrupting.

“I already said it once. I don’t know how many times I have to say it,” Yang leaned forward. “I. Don’t. Care.”

Polly grit her teeth, and Yang shook her head.

“What part about that don’t you get?” She said. “Seriously? Why is that so difficult to understand? I don’t care. I don’t. I don’t need a mission, or a goal, or a quest, or a fight. I need you to _leave._ That’s it. That’s all. I’m fine the way I am. What, we’re just gonna stroll off and kill all the people you hate?”

She straightened up and threw her arm out.

“I mean, do you expect me to feel sorry for you?”

 _“No,”_ Polly responded quickly.

“You expect me to just let you walk back in and act like nothing ever happened?”

_“No.”_

“You expect me to just forget it all?”

_“No.”_

“And so you just expect me to stand up and keep fighting?”

Polly signed her answer back, one letter at a time.

_“Y.”_

_“E.”_

_“S.”_

Yang stared at her for a second, mouth open and thinking. Slowly, she started to shake her head. At this point, she was practically laughing.

“And how do you expect me to do that, huh?” Her smile was sardonic and without cheer. “For what? For who? Where is everyone now? All the things that _I_ fight for? Where are they? How come they all decided to turn their backs on me? I mean, fuck. Maybe I _should_ have just died at Beacon.”

Polly opened her mouth. Almost like she wanted to speak.

Yang pointed at her.

“And how about you, huh? You left too, y’know. I remember that. I remember it was when I needed you most. And you left anyway. Just like the rest of them. What’s supposed to make you any different?”

_“I’m here now.”_

The signs were quick and to the point. Yang took a step back, and silence fell over again. They waited all over again. This time, there was no one to break the silence. Neither knew how. This time, they might not have even known what they were being silent over. They just were, and it was lasting a long, long while.

Polly turned away from Yang, towards the door. Briskly she began to walk, and only when the door started to open was Yang able to speak.

“Where are you going?’

Polly stared back at her. Then, she signed, thrusting her hands and face forwards so that you could see the attitude she was giving.

_“Shopping.”_

And then the door slammed shut and she was out into the shimmering hills of white beneath the colorless sun. And inside, Yang stood still for a little while. For a time, she just watched after the door. Then she took a deep breath and turned, ready to go about whatever nothings she was going to do today. In the back of her mind, the thought occurred to her— _Maybe she’s finally gone._

But somewhere, in the back, there was a small little part that thought, in turn— _I hope she’s not._

 

— — — 

 

Off to the east, even through the cold, the oceans kept on running. The blizzard had crept along the continent, and was sweeping over the shores. It wasn’t something anyone had seen in any recent memories, the way the beaches seemed to turn from sand to snow. Nature itself had ceased to follow its own rules, at this point. The world was angry, and it was a cold, hungry anger. There was nothing to be done about it. Nothing could be done about it. It simply would happen, and there was no way anyone would be able to prevent it. The mother earth, true queen of Remnant, and the ultimate ruler of all things life and death, would have her way. Nothing would stand in front of her, when she was raging. And rage she did. The planet, the trees, the ground, the ocean, the animals— the people— they were all subject to her wrath, and she would lash and thrash about, letting them feel her cold, bitter disappointment. What was she disappointed in? What had angered her so, really? No eyes could truly tell, and so it would be. Everyone and everything would sit there, hiding and helpless, suffering her abuse as long as she saw fit to enact her will. We would all simply wait, for there was nothing else to be done.

One man sat by himself, doing some waiting of his own. The snow blew over the ocean, and he watched from the safer side of the great windows. The ship port was managing to survive nature’s force, for now, and so he leaned back in his chair comfortably on the second story. After all, that was where the station’s pub was located. While he watched the winter wonderland outside, he took care to keep his eyes open and aware. Just a few yards away from him to his left, there was a glass-railed overlook into the first floor of the station. Down there, sitting at a table outside the cafe, was a group of four young travelers awaiting a trip across the narrow ocean and over to Anima. There, they would eventually find Mistral, where they had decided they may be able to get answers to their questions. Maybe those answers would take them even farther down the rabbit hole. But for now, they could only wait. The one in the red hood seemed particularly impatient with that, in the way that she bounced up and down in her seat. Of course, she was always like that.

Qrow smirked and turned back to the storm outside.

“Kids,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Outside, the wind seemed to whip up and blow by in a hurry, spinning around the building and gusting cold ocean spray through the air. As the clouds swirled and spun up above, a flash of blue, icy light ignited the sky for a fraction of a second. Only about a second past before the thunder rang out in its booming, roaring way. Close. In the noise of the wind and thunder, Qrow almost didn’t notice that he wasn’t alone, anymore. Almost.

“Beautiful day, isn’t?” Qrow said, smirking towards the windows.

“Not for travel,” a girl’s voice responded, and he could hear her run her hands through her hair. 

Flakes of snow fluttered to the floor, vanishing to nothing in an instant. 

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” he said.

“Gods, she told me you thought you were funny,” she said, and he could practically hear her eyes rolling through her skull. “But I really thought she was exaggerating.”

“You say that like we’ve never met before.”

“You met me. Once. I never really met you, so. Yeah,” she spat, and from her voice you could tell how young she was. About Ruby’s age, if he had to guess. No one knew her _exact_ age, though, as far as he was aware. There wasn’t exactly much formal documentation about her. Or her sister.

“Aren’t there supposed to be two of you?” He asked.

“What?” 

“You’re one of the twins,” he said, taking a sip from his flask. “Right?”

“No shit,” she spat.

“So where’s the other one?”

“Indisposed,” she said flatly.

“Big word,” he said as he took another swig. “Indisposed.”

“Okay?” She waited a moment, then shook her head. “Whatever.”

“So what brings you to Vale?”

“From what I know about you,” she didn’t answer. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well you see, I’m actually leaving, right now,” he put his feet up on a chair. 

“Are you?” She raised an eyebrow. “Looks like you’re still here.”

“Guess you think you’re funny now, too.”

“Where are you going?” She went flat again. 

“Where do you think?”

“Mistral,” she said.

“Yep. But as you can see,” he pointed to the storm outside. “We’ve been delayed. ‘Inclement weather,’ and all that. So.”

Finally, he turned to look at her. She was definitely young, but her face seemed aged past its years. Black locks of hair came down to her shoulders, with deep purple at the tips that faded darker as they went up. She was pale and small, only a tad bit taller than his niece. And she was dressed in dark, tactical leathers, like someone who knew how to mix style and practicality. Hanging from her waist was a chain, tied around in a loop. Some kind of hook was at the end of it. All of this and more, Qrow was able to read, without ever breaking eye contact with her.

“I’ll ask again,” he nodded, his voice with a tone of seriousness slipping into it. “What brings you to Vale?”

“You,” she answered after a moment. “Obviously.”

They maintained their stare off for a few moments. Locked, he looked straight into her eyes, and her deep, violently violet irises seemed to glow. Then, Qrow sighed and shook his head, turning back to the ocean beyond. 

“You know, if Raven wants something,” he took another drink. “She can just talk to me herself.”

“Like I said,” she crossed her arms. “Indisposed.”

“I thought that was Sable.”

She grit her teeth.

 _“I’m_ Sable.”

“Whatever,” he waved her off, making her grit her teeth harder. “Whatever your sister’s name is.”

“Opal,” she said sharply.

“Sure,” he smirked again. “Her.”

“They’re both busy.”

“With what?”

“None of your business.”

With another sigh, he slowly dropped his feet to the floor and leaned forward. In one last gulp, he finished off his drink and put it back on the table beside him.

“Do you have it?” She asked.

“You’ll have to be more specific—”

“The cane,” she interrupted. “Do you have it?”

“And what would you want with some old man’s cane?”

“Raven wants it.”

“Too bad,” he shook his head. “She can’t have it.”

Sable leaned forward over the table. 

“Do you know what it’s going to do to you?”

“Do you?” He chuckled.

“Your sister filled me in."

“Yeah, with whatever she’s convinced it’ll do,” he looked back over at her again. “But she’s not exactly the most reliable person around. Think you would’ve learned that, by now.”

“Watch your mouth,” she hissed. “Just because you're her brother doesn’t mean I won’t cut out your tongue.”

“Now that,” he grinned, nearly laughing. “I might just take you up on that offer.”

“I’m not playing,” she said, and the anger in her voice seemed to flare up slightly further.

“Neither am I,” he chuckled a few times. “Sounds like it would be a fun fight.”

“Just give me the cane.”

“What, exactly,” he wondered. “Do you think it’s going to do? What did she tell you?”

“That it takes control of the host,” she answered quickly. “That Ozpin will make you into his slave, until he can recover his physical form.”

Qrow sighed heavily, again.

“There she goes again,” he said. “How many times has she lied to you, you think?”

“Never,”

There was nothing to stop him from laughing this time.

“Now you actually _are_ funny, woah,” he said as his laughter slowly faded off.

Sable’s face turned bright red. Pearly white teeth flashed as she bared them, clenching her fists. One of them closed around the chain of her weapon. Her right arm, covered in a black sleeve that stopped just at the fingers, with silver wrist guards and armor on the shoulder. Meanwhile, her left arm was bare and exposed save for the similar, fingerless black glove on her hand.

“It’s true,” Sable was close to shouting. “You don’t know anything about how she treats us.”

“Kid,” he combed a hand through his hair. “I know everything about how she treats you— because it’s how she treats everybody else.”

“She’s trying to help you,” she put her hands on the table and gripped it by the edge. “You should take her seriously. It’s not often, she extends kindness like this—”

“Kindness?” He cut her off. “Raven wouldn’t know kindness if it was lodged in her throat. If Raven wants the cane, it’s because she thinks she can get something out of it.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, her grip on the table tightening. “Maybe not. Maybe she wants something, maybe she just doesn’t want you to become a tool for that old bastard.”

“That ‘old bastard’ is the only thing that’s keeping all of us from being wiped out completely.”

He turned to face her all the way, folding his hands over the table and leaning in further.

“And as long as I’m alive, I’m going to make sure that Raven can’t stop him. I don’t know what Raven thinks he’s trying to do, but she’s wrong. Salem is the enemy, and without Oz, we’re all gonna die. Maybe if she comes to her senses, she’ll realize that.”

“You—”

“Yeah, me,” he brushed her off. “I’m not handing it over. And you’re not taking it from me. You should’ve brought your sister, if you thought you could get it by force. So why don’t you head on back to Raven and tell her that? Tell her that if she wants it, she can try and come get it. Or maybe she could put the rest of the world before herself and what she wants, for just one single second in her entire life.”

Sable leaned back in her chair, taking a deep breath. Slowly, her fists relaxed and she let her jaw loosen. The glow in her eyes faded slightly, and they looked just a faint bit less violent. Even still, her eyes were a stormy purple when she looked back up into his.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said bitterly.

“Sure,” he leaned back again. “Whatever you say.”

“Whatever,” she spoke coldly, and then rose to her feet. “I have other things to do anyway.”

“Tell Raven I say hi,” he smirked at her.

Without another word, she turned and began to make her way briskly away from him, towards the station exits. By the second, she grew further and further away, and only looked back once, when he shouted something to her.

“Careful, I hear it’s cold out there,” he called after her.

If only for a brief moment, she paused, turned back to him, raised her hand, and flipped him the bird. Then she was walking away once more, getting smaller and smaller until he had faded from his sight completely. Then, he turned back to the overlook, through the glass railings, where he could see his niece and her friends still downstairs at the cafe table. Someone said something, and in a manner of seconds Ruby was throwing her arms up in the air with a look on her face that said, “I’m so frustrated I want to die.”

Smirking, he quietly chuckled to himself and shook his head.

“Kids.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter 10. I feel like it took a bit longer than I wanted it too, but I don't know. So I guess this is just what we're doing now, huh? I'll probably never be able to find the perfect medium between too early and too late, so maybe I shouldn't worry about it. Either way, this chapter's done and so it's on to the next one. Feedback and questions, as always, are welcome. Enjoy!


	11. No Pity

**XI**

_**No Pity** _

— — —  

_“(Hello)_

_I was listening to this song,_

_It goes like,_

_I know it hurts sometimes but you'll get over it.”_

_— — —_

The next couple of days blended together. The sun rose and sank, glowing and glimmering as always. The moon came and went, its shattered pieces hanging loosely yet locked, as they always did. The clouds went by, stars sparkled and flashed, and the great frost remained. Through it all, Yang kept to herself. Alone all over again, there was no one else for her to keep to. It had been somewhere around two whole days passed since her guest had up and vanished without any real explanation. At this point, Yang had no idea what she should be expecting. Even before— before the Fall— Polly had always been a spontaneous and erratic type. It was hard to set expectations when there was nothing to base them on. And, of course, this was neglecting to mention that Yang had started to get the sense that maybe, just  _maybe,_ her ex-girlfriend wasn’t quite  _exactly_ who she claimed to be. Who she _actually_ was still was a mystery. In truth, it wasn’t like Yang really ever knew that much about her, to begin with. There had never been much in the way of an open conversation on the topic, even when things were relatively normal. Regardless, Yang had the idea that she probably wasn’t some huntress-in-training girl from Haven Academy. There was also an inkling of a feeling that Polly wasn’t being entirely truthful about how much she’d known about The Fall. Though Yang mainly ignored those thoughts. Mostly she wrote that off just as being a bit of blind anger.

Then there was always the strange familiarity about Polly that had permeated since their very first meeting. If that even _was_ their first meeting. So who was she? Where was she from? What did she want, what did she know, what was she planning? These were the questions that floated through Yang’s mind, while she laid in her bed silently. But these were not the questions that she was pondering, at the moment. No, these were just the little details, the things she hadn’t quite figured out yet, the things that would occasionally come back to remind her _just_ how little she knew about— well, about anything, really. The questions that she _did_ ponder were far more immediate. At least she felt like they were. They were the ones that kept her from _completely_ sliding into oblivion, the ones that— despite a lack of admission on her part— kept her in some small part within the realm of reality. Where is she? What is she doing? When is she coming back?

The house was cold, right now.

The snow was still piled up nearly to the windows, after all.

The heating was struggling to keep up with the frigid, icy air all by itself.

The chill had even gotten to Zwei, so he stayed closer to her.

The whole world was cold, now.

Was she coming back?

Yang decided that maybe she should go put on the fireplace.

So she did. Or at least, she was going to, when she realized that there was no more firewood inside. They must have run out within the past few days, and she just hadn’t noticed. Before he left for his mission, her dad had been handling that stuff. Apparently, it had been long enough that she was going to have to worry about it now. Food, as well, wasn’t far off from being at that point. There actually wasn’t a wealth of it in the kitchen anymore, even despite Yang’s _exceedingly_ sparse eating habits. 

The storm had ended for the most part, at least. There was still the occasional snowfall or heavy gust, but the bulk of the blizzard seemed to have passed. So where was her dad? Seems like he should be back by now. Right? Unless he got preoccupied. A detour, maybe. Or maybe another mission? A Grimm attack, somewhere. The CCT was down, so he couldn’t communicate with her if he’d been held up. Or maybe he was still snowed in somewhere if the blizzard hadn’t entirely finished yet. Or maybe he was dead. That was also possible. It wouldn’t particularly surprise her, either.

Don’t mistake her lack of reaction for a lack of caring. Obviously, she wasn’t indifferent to her own father’s possible death. In truth, it would horrify and upset her terribly. Really, she wouldn’t even be able to cope with that happening. But this was just her attitude by now. The way she thought. The way she felt. Actually, she didn’t really know what to feel. Or what to think. What to expect. And so what had she learned? What had the world taught her, in her recent endeavors? Expect the worst. Think the worst. Feel the worst. 

Zwei followed her closely, looking up at her as she put on her boots. He licked her a few times as she buckled them and then rose. For a brief moment, she returned his look and there was a sadness in his eyes. It was like he could see something, something that words didn’t convey and thoughts didn’t describe. Glued to her, it was like he was far into some realm of knowing that was untouched by human eyes and hands, where knowledge transcended communication and where feeling and seeing were one and the same. It was deep and distant, and looking back into his eyes made it feel even further away. The whole world felt far away because maybe he wasn’t so far into that realm after all. Maybe he just saw something that anyone else would see, if they were there to look. Something that Yang, exclusively, couldn’t seem to grasp.

Or maybe he was a dog, and he was sad because she was ignoring him. That would explain it, as well. With a sigh, she turned and swung the door open. It was even colder than she expected, and she was starting to regret forgoing a jacket for even such a short trip to the log pile around back. Pushing through it, she pulled her sleeve as far down as she could and rubbed her palm over her shoulder. The hottest thing in the air was her breath, for the fleeting seconds that it floated in front of her. So she breathed hard and frequently, and she walked through it was brisk as she could. Eventually, she found her way to the stacks of firewood. It was mostly buried, but she knew where it would be. After struggling for a few moments, she managed to pull a few logs free. The frost had stuck them together, and they were slippery to the touch. Still, she rose with an armful and turned for the front, ready to get back inside and out of this frozen hell outside.

That’s when she heard it.

It was brief, and faint, and it almost wasn’t there at all. But she knew the sound. And she knew it well. If only because of her adventures during her time at Beacon. 

Immediately she froze, joining the rest of the world. Eyebrows narrow and eyes even narrower, she kept herself still and listened carefully. There were other faint sounds, like soft winds or rustling tree branches. And the noise wasn’t there anymore. But the source— the source wasn’t gone. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible, to vanish that quickly. Not like that, not in the near silence of this frigid wasteland. So she stood there, waiting, ignoring the bite of the bitter air, listening. And listening. And listening. And— 

It whirred. The sound of mechanical articulation, moving quickly. The stillness of the world around her disappeared, and the snow behind her was disrupted. As quick as she could, she spun on her heel. A metallic blow came down hard, and the pile of wood she used as a shield splintered like— well, like wood. 

Before she could make a move of her own, another swing of motorized titanium flew and found flesh, meeting her jaw and sending her reeling. The snow parted for her legs as she stumbled backward, dazed and spinning. By the time she could recover enough to even understand what was happening, another blow was inches from her. With barely time to react, her arm found its way up and in between the robotic limb and her own skull. There was a harsh pain shooting through her arm, and she realized she was already starting to feel the full force of the blows. It was weak from disuse, so her aura wasn’t going to last her very long in this fight. 

Before her assailant was able to make another move, she was at least able to grasp _what_ was actually attacking her. Standing a few inches over her, one of the Atlesian robots was staring down at her. Its black visor was glowing red, faceless and deadly. It also seemed a bit more agile and mobile than most of the robots she’d dealt with before. Maybe some kind of advanced model? A prototype, probably. It didn’t matter either way. It was here, it was affected by whatever virus had made them go rogue at The Fall, and it was trying to kill her. That was about all she knew, and it was really all she needed.

Trying to stay a step ahead, she pushed off from the robot and slid a few steps back. Lowering her stance, she could already feel the soreness in her arm. The little amount of aura she assumed she had must have been an overestimation. The only way she was going to win this fight is if she doesn’t take another hit. Great. That wasn’t necessarily her forte. And it didn’t help that she didn’t have her weapons, either.

Oh, well. 

“C’mon, you son of a bitch,” she growled, readying herself. 

As if it understood her, the robot lunged straight in. It came from her right, swinging with its left. Quickly, Yang realized that her plan to not get hit was already a failure. There was no way she was avoiding this hit completely. The snow and her physical state made her sure of that. It was too late to dodge, and she was going to have to block the hit with what little aura she had.

Fine. 

Fuck, this was gonna hurt.

It came for her, and she lifted her arm to block. It would break her aura, and she would fight through the pain to redirect its blow. She would pin it, and—

Well, it certainly hurt. It hurt real bad, when it swung straight through her imaginary right arm and into her side. It sent her tumbling, rolling into the snow and reaching for her ribs in pain. Maybe it would have been smarter to just try and dodge, after all. The snow surrounded her, and she could barely focus. At least one of her ribs was broken, best case scenario. The cold was overtaking her senses quickly. Faintly, she could hear the robotic trudging of her attacker's legs through the snow. Lowering her _good_ arm this time, she tried to find ground to push herself up with. Instead, the ground ran away from her as her hand sank deeper and deeper into the frosty white around her. The snow was thicker than she’d thought. Or maybe she was still stunned from the hit.

The Atlesian trooper had to be close, by now. It was hard for her to think, harder for her to move, and nearly impossible for her to stand. 

 _So this_ _is how I die, then. In the snow, two feet outside my house, killed by a fucking robot._

Her lungs felt raw as she took in a sharp breath. An unpleasant, painful breath, for a last one. Oh, well. Suffering till the very end, it seemed. _Fitting,_ she thought. 

But it looked like life had other plans for her.

The robot fell straight forward, landing in the snow behind her. There was a thin hole through its head, and sparks were flying occasionally from it. It sank past her and straight to the bottom, finding the ground she’d just been desperately hunting for. 

Huh.

Eventually, Yang struggled to her feet. The frost had nearly conquered her senses entirely, and she was still breathing painfully. There was still the hard pain in her ribs, although it wasn’t quite as bad. Probably just a fracture, at worst. Taking in a harsh breath, she shut her eyes for a moment, trying to stop the spinning. After a second she opened them up again, and focus returned to her sight enough to see Polly standing a few yards away from her. In her right hand was a thin, stiletto sword of some kind. The hand that gripped it was covered by a low hanging sleeve, so Yang couldn’t see what the handle looked like. During her time away, she seemed to have cleaned herself up slightly. Instead of the tattered clothes she had before, she was wearing cleaner, more intact gear,  winter-ready but without sacrificing movement. They were black and white, although this time around there was about as much white as there was black, rather than the nearly pure dark clothing she wore before. It made her fit in with the snow a little better, almost like a kind of camouflage.  

Yang let out another pained breath.

“So,” she said. “You’re back.”

Polly hardly reacted. There was a brief period where she just stared at her blankly and silently. Then she moved quickly and straight, sheathing her weapon and speaking with purpose and without flare.

 _“Bring it to the shed,”_ she said.

“What?”

Without another word, Polly turned and moved straight for the shed behind the house where Yang kept her bike. 

“Hey!” Yang called out after her. “What are you—”

But Polly just kept walking.

After a few seconds, Yang sighed. Reaching down, she searched through the snow until she found a part of the robot to grab. It was heavy, and she only had one arm to lift it with, but she pulled and dragged anyway. She did was Polly asked for some strange reason that she couldn’t quite decipher, muttering and cursing to herself the whole way.

“I don’t know what I expected.”

 

— — — 

 

The corpse of the mechanical soldier came down onto the floor with a hard, heavy slam. The crash of metal against the cool, concrete floor rang out through the tightly cramped little shack. Hot air escaped Yang’s lungs in the form of pants, and she bent at the waist with her arm resting on her knees. Keeping her eyes shut, she rubbed her palm on her legs and then raised it to her mouth, warming it with her breath. The shed was warmer than the snow outside, but it wasn’t as though that was impressive. Sure, it may have been an improvement, but not a drastic one. No one keeps their shed heated, anyway. 

The pounding in her chest slowed eventually, until it was nearly back to normal. It had been a long time since she’d last exerted herself like that. The robot wasn’t even particularly heavy, but it was certainly heavier than anything else she’d lifted in the past several weeks. It was hard to shake the faint feeling of embarrassment, but she ignored it as best she could. Acclimating herself to the new temperature, Yang stood up straight and stretched her arm. When she finally did open her eyes, she saw Polly sitting on a workbench on the other end of the shed, looking at the tools on the walls surprisingly intently. With a groan, Yang felt the familiar feelings of her eyes rolling through the front of her skull.

“Maybe next time you could help out, a little?” She said.

For a time, Polly’s eyes stayed on the racks of tools. Lackadaisical, she eventually turned to face Yang. The face she gave was a disinterested, almost tired one. It wasn’t a face she had seen very often. At least from Polly, that is. There was a faint sense that she’d seen that expression recently. It was a more unconscious thought, in the back of her brain, that remembered that she sees that face pretty much any time she looks in a mirror. 

 _“No, thanks,”_ Polly said casually, before looking back at the tools. 

“Yeah, of course,” Yang mocked. “Why would I even ask?”

 _“No idea,”_ Polly said, perhaps a little too unironically, without looking at her.

That was frustrating, to Yang.

“I mean, why would I expect you to actually, y’know, _do_ anything? How did I get that dumbass idea in my head?”

Without her face altering, Polly gave a shrug.

“Because that’s all you do, right? Take, take, take. You wouldn’t know how to help if it was the only thing in the world you could do,” Yang’s voice was even more bitter by the word. “I can’t believe I almost _missed_ you. Fuck, I can’t believe I actually _dated_ you!”

Polly gave her a slow, trodding glance. It was blank, careless, and unwavering— and a bit cutting. Then, as slowly as she turned, she dragged her eyes back to the hanging tools and equipment. 

Biting her teeth, Yang held back a groan.

“Since when were you so interested in tools?” She spat.

_“Since when were you?”_

“What?”

_“You like mechanics. When did that start?”_

“I—” Yang was surprised by how— well, by how surprised she was. “I don’t know, thirteen? Fourteen?”

She shrugged and waited for Polly to respond. She didn’t.

“Whenever they first taught us about weapon making, I guess,” Yang said after a moment, her own eyes drifting to the tools now. “It’s what made me want to build Bumblebee.”

The bike was sitting off to the side of the shed, covered by a brown tarp. A brown tarp that was turning gray from the dust it gathered. Polly hopped down from the workbench and over to the bike. With a yank, she ripped the tarp off and sent the dust floating through the air. It drew a cough from Yang, but Polly seemed unbothered. Bumblebee was sitting there, leaning against the wall, waiting silently in disuse. The yellow sides and plates seemed dull and dead in the dim and poor lighting, like a wilting dandelion. Something about it made it seem tired, or sleepy. There was even an almost sickly quality about it. When was the last time she rode it? At this point, she couldn’t even remember. 

 _“You built it?”_ Polly looked at Yang.

“Uh, yeah. Well,” she scratched her neck. “Sort of. I didn’t really make the parts, I just kinda put them together. And I made the plates, and some of the mods.”

Looking back towards the bike, Polly ran her hand along the sides.

“I painted it too,” Yang added, then shook her head. “As if that’s important.”

Slowly, Polly started to nod. Without looking at Yang, she began to sign.

 _“This works,”_ she said. _“I can work with this.”_

“What?”

With a light shove, Bumblebee came crashing down to the floor with the same metallic and concrete collision they had heard before. It made Yang jump, while Polly stood unmoved beside it.

“Hey!”

With an incredulous look on her face, Yang took a few steps forward.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

 _“Getting you started,”_ Polly said flatly.

“What are you talking about?!”

Finally turning her attention fully to Yang, Polly stepped over the bike. Giving her a cold, unfeeling stare, Polly came towards Yang with stiff direction. There was only maybe a foot between them when she stopped. One of her hands rose up between them, pointing directly at Yang’s chest.

 _“You,”_ she said, _“have work to do.”_

“What—” Yang said before Polly shut her hand for silence.

 _“I need your help, and you need mine,”_ Polly started. _“But those things won’t happen as long as you’re like_ that _.”_

The hand between them was pointing at Yang’s right arm— or rather, where it should be. Briefly, Yang’s gaze followed where she was pointing. Then she grit her teeth and her eyes fell back to Polly.

“I already told—”

 _“I can’t buy an arm for you, I can’t steal one, and I can’t make one,”_ she ignored her. _“But you—”_

She pointed to Bumblebee.

_“Have the parts.”_

To the racks and workbenches.

_“The tools.”_

To Yang’s head.

_“And the talent.”_

The finger came forward and pressed into Yang’s forehead. It pushed, shoving her head backward before Yang lashed out with her arm. Polly’s own limb avoided Yang’s swipe, then came forward again smoothly and straight in Yang’s face.

 _“All you need is something to start from,”_ she said.

Without turning her eyes, she turned her head and nodded to the robot body behind Yang.

_“That’s what I was busy getting, for you.”_

Huffing, Yang tried to push Polly’s arm away again. She pulled it back quickly again, dodging Yang completely. There was something debilitatingly frustrating about the way Yang’s hand grasped at air. Like a quick, silent game of cat and mouse, Polly’s arm kept coming back and Yang kept swiping, coming up with nothing each time. The silence only ended when Yang stamped her foot and groaned a groan that sounded more like a scream. The only response she got was the feeling of Polly’s hand coming forth again, this time pressing straight into her chest just above her heart. 

_“There’s only one thing left, now.”_

Still blowing air, Yang spoke through her tightly locked teeth more in the form of a statement than a question.

“What.”

_“Do you have the strength?”_

 

— — — 

 

Today was brighter than the past few days, at least. When Yang woke up, the sun had carved out a nice little hole through the clouds and down into her room. The light was so strong that it almost felt warm. The light came down onto the snow, bouncing and reflecting, making the ground sparkle outside and lighting up her ceiling a little more. It was the first time in a while that her room wasn’t dark, at least not completely. The light was bright enough that all of the dust was more apparent, as well. The ceiling lamp hanging above her was coated in a layer, so perfectly covering it that you might think it could be on and you still wouldn’t notice. Not that it would be on, anytime soon. Some of the dust was floating through the air lightly, dancing over Yang as she stared up at the empty space above her. They moved gracefully, almost enchantingly free, unbound and untied to anything on the earthly world below them. Yang wondered how much of it used to be her skin.

After a long while, she felt a faint grumble in her stomach. The clock on her nightstand was staring at her, the numbers blinking tauntingly. 8:42, A.M. Usually, she didn’t get up this early. Even if she was pretty much always awake, by now. It was more comfortable to just stay in the peace and simplicity of her bedsheets, for a while. But a feeling a faint groan of her belly was a big deal, these days. It meant she hadn’t eaten in a good ten, twenty, thirty hours. Getting hungry before then was pretty rare, as of late. She sighed and started to climb out of bed.

“Alright, alright,” she muttered to no one in particular.

Something was telling her it was gonna be a long day.

Whatever that something was, it seems like it was right. As soon as she opened the door, she found herself face to face with an image she was hoping to have escaped. There were several hard-plastic boxes, varying in their sizes, laying around her hallway against and atop each other. One of them was open, and sitting next to it was her friend the robot, his disabled body hanging there loosely like an old string puppet. There was a pipe wrench, bright red and big, like out of a cartoon, gripped weakly in the robot’s hand. The black face on his head had been defaced, a one-word message written in bright yellow spray-painted screaming at her as the very first thing she saw when she opened her door.

_WEAK._

Groaning, she clenched her fist before shaking her head, forcing herself to relax and turn down the hallway. All she wanted was breakfast.

But Yang never got what she wanted.

When she came out of the hallway and into the kitchen, the first thing she noticed was the large objects sitting in the front of the house by the entrance. The first was Bumblebee, leaning against the wall. There was an indented trail in the carpeted floor behind it, where it had been rolled through. The other thing was the “portable” workbench that sat across from it, already set up and ready to go. “Portable” was a stretch, though, because what it was advertised as and what it actually _was_ were two wildly different things. It was large, heavy, and unwieldy. There was the same kind of trail on the carpeted floor from its little metal legs, but the wooden floor before the carpet had scrape marks from where the bench had been lugged across. Managing to drag that thing through the snow, by yourself, without making enough noise for Yang to notice, was impressive on its own. How someone of Polly’s size could pull that off was something else entirely. Not that Yang would acknowledge that, though. 

Speaking of Polly, however. Swinging her legs like a kid, she was sitting on top of the bench and staring down at her scroll, typing and swiping momentarily ever so often. When Yang walked in, Polly didn’t even look up. So naturally, Yang, in turn, ignored her as well. Resisting the urge to say anything, she stayed on her path to the cabinets before being stopped by the sound of a whistle from the other girl. Glancing over just in time, Polly tossed the scroll across the room and over to Yang. By some miracle, she managed to catch it. It was a struggle and it bounced in her hand comically, but she caught it nonetheless. And at the very least, she hadn’t tried to catch it with her right this time.

Turning it in her hand, she looked down at Polly’s scroll. She— wait a second…

“When did you take my scroll?” Yang looked up at her.

 _“Don’t really remember,”_ Polly shrugged. _“When did you last see it?”_

“I—” Yang almost felt angry, for a moment, and then realized that she hadn’t touched it in weeks. “I’m not sure.”

 _“Then neither am I,”_ she said, and then nodded to it. _“Open it.”_

Glancing up at her once more, Yang had to stretch her fingers to turn it on with her left hand. It was strange, the things you don’t notice you're not used to. The scroll felt big, awkward. Wrong. Amazing what just switching hands can do.

When the screen finally lit up, she saw a blue screen covered in white lines and shapes. Swiping through the images, she slowly started to put the pieces together.

“This is definitely illegal,” she muttered.

_“And?”_

Yang glared up at her briefly. Polly just shrugged back.

 _“I don’t care,”_ she said. _“Didn’t think you would.”_

“I’m not a criminal, Polly,” Yang spat, looking at the scroll and still watching Polly out of the corner of her eye.

 _“Awful convenient,”_ Polly said. _“Deciding to care about something now.”_

Groaning, Yang turned back towards the kitchen and tossed the scroll onto the counter.

“What do you want me to do with this, anyway?”

 _“What do you think?”_ It looked like she was scoffing as she signed. 

“It’s blueprints,” Yang said. “Just because I have it doesn’t mean I know how it works.”

 _“You figured out the bike,”_ Polly answered back.

“And there’s a pretty _big_ fucking step,” Yang nearly wanted to shout. “Between a bike and a robot.”

 _“You already have the robot,”_ Polly gestured to the hallway. _“You just need to get the arm working on you.”_

“You make it really obvious that you have no idea what you’re talking about, y’know.”

 _“Sure,”_ Polly responded blankly. _“But you do. And you have all the info you need. What’s there to complain about?”_

This time, Yang stopped completely. There was a faint tightness, slowly building through her arm. Ignoring the slight pain, her fingernails slowly started to dig into her palm. Without turning to look at Polly, she shut her eyes and spoke sharply through her teeth.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she started. She was a scorpion, and her voice was her tail. “Maybe that thing I told you, already— that _I’m not interested._ Maybe you remember that?”

Opening her eyes, she spun on her heel and raised her voice at the girl across from her.

“Maybe that part where I told you that _I don’t care._ Maybe the part where I told you that I’m not helping you and that I don’t need your help. That I don’t want your bullshit robot arm plans, that I don’t _want_ to make one, that I _won’t_ make one, that I _can’t_ make one. Maybe that. Just _maybe.”_

She took a step forward.

“Tell me honestly, what part of the word _no_ is it that you don’t understand? Where’s the disconnect, there? What’s the part that isn’t clear to you, that isn’t sitting properly, that isn’t going through your _thick fucking_ skull?”

Another step forward. The room was hot.

“I’m not sure what’s confusing you, so how about I _break it down,_ for you? How ‘bout that, huh?”

There was something straining in her eyes, and her head was burning.

“I don’t want your help. I don’t care if you think you know what I should do. That’s _not_ your choice. My decisions are _mine,_ not _yours._ I’m fine. I’m content. I’m _done_ with you. So why don’t you just run off, away from here, away from me, and go on with your little revenge mission fucked up killing spree bullshit, or whatever it is you’re after, and just leave me alone so I can go back to laying in my bed again. Does that sound good? ‘Cause it does to me. Because I don’t care what you want. And I don’t care if you pretend to care about what I want. I. Don’.t Care.”

Caught up in the moment, she didn’t notice when she started shaking. Standing there, her body flexed and tense, her pressure in her eyes was growing even further. It was starting to be painful, like working a muscle that hadn’t been used in ages. Taking one more step forward, she spat one last thing at Polly.

“Got it?”

Then she stood there, waiting for the girl to respond.

Waiting for her to react.

To move.

_Something._

But she just sat there. Staring. Motionless. Still, she sat perched on the workbench, eyes blank and unblinking, practically glazed over. It was like a statue, a gargoyle, sitting on the edge and looking down at Yang, unmoving and unthink and unfeeling. The very walls were moving more than Polly was, right now. One of the windows rattled, a light gust making it shake quietly. The house settled, and there was a creak in the floorboards. It sounded like a snapping noise, a single pop before the stone silences came back to encase them. 

Yang couldn’t take it.

“Well?!”

For another second, Polly kept watching her. Then, moving her head slowly, she took a deep breath in and out through the noise. Taking her time, looked down and hopped down from the bench, staying calm and cool in her composure. Each step, each slight and careless shift of the arm or body seemed wholly and inexplicably deliberate. Walking through the furniture, over the carpet, around the counters, she eventually reached Yang and stopped just short of her. Staring straight forward, she was looking right at Yang’s collarbone. The joints of her neck moved like lead, gradually and inch by inch, until she was looking up directly into Yang’s eyes. They stared at each other for a short moment, and Polly raised one of her eyebrows. Yang opened her mouth, and then suddenly found herself on the floor and unable to move.

“What— Hey!” She kicked and shouted, trying to shake Polly off of her. 

Standing over her, Polly had her pinned to the ground with her arm pulled hard over across her back. Anytime Yang shook, Polly’s grip on her arm tightened and the pain heightened.

“Get! Get, off!” She kept fighting anyway. “Let go! Get off me, cunt!”

Polly just held her there, rolling her eyes. When she kicked again, Polly simply pressed Yang’s arm down harder. It made her cry out in anguish.

“Aaagh, fuck! Stop!”  
She didn’t, and so Yang didn’t stop either.

Paying no mind to the protests, complaints, and insults coming from the girl beneath her, Polly reached over and grabbed the scroll off the counter. Keeping her locked all the way there, she dragged Yang across the floor and back to her room. Tossing her like a ragdoll, it was another level of absurdity to watch the way Yang was thrown about like a sack of potatoes by a woman not even within a foot of her height.

After she landed, Yang struggled to move very much. The pain had been extreme, and she was already sore and spent. Then the scroll flew through the air to her. 

She didn’t catch it this time.

It made a funny little clapping noise when it hit her in the face. Cheeks glowing red, Yang growled at Polly, who was standing still and unmoved with her hands on her hips.

 _“You want to lay in bed all day? Fine,”_ she shrugged. _“See if I care. But don’t expect to do anything else, in the meantime. You’re not leaving this room until I see you start putting in work.”_

“You can’t—!” Yang started to shout.

Polly just raised her brow further and cut her off.

_“I. Don’t. Care.”_

You could almost hear Yang’s teeth grinding.

Polly turned, paying her no more attention. Grabbing things from the hallway at an almost leisurely pace, she tossed the boxes of tools and parts in, before lastly grabbing the robot by the neck and hurling it into the room. It landed face up on its back, staring up at Yang.

 _“Don’t work, don’t leave,”_ Polly said. _“That’s what you want, isn’t it?”_

Nodding to the robot, Yang glanced down at it and saw the message again.

_“I’ll bring you food in an hour. Get to it, sweetheart.”_

And at that, Polly turned and stepped out of the room, slamming the door shut hard. It locked from the inside, but for some reason, Yang got the feeling Polly was going to find her own way of keeping it shut.

If Yang could see herself, she might have noticed how, as angry as she got, her eyes had never even turned red.

But she couldn’t see herself.

So she didn’t notice.

All she noticed was the disabled robot and the pleasant little spray-painted message on its face.

_WEAK._


	12. Proof

**XII**

**_Proof_ **

— — —  

_ “Either you give in, or you fight. That's all I know, being where I'm from. You fight for what you want. You go after what you want. The only thing I could do was give up or keep fighting for what I wanted in life.” _

_ — — —   _

Who knew dogs could be so…

Weird.

The metronomic wagging of Zwei’s tail was unpausing, as it swung beneath him. At one point, Neo tried to hold it in place to stop its flapping. It slapped about even through her grasp, and he didn’t even seem to notice her. At the same time, his pink tongue drooped lazily and hung out of his mouth. It made him look like he was smiling, for some reason. Even through his constant panting, his mood looked just the same to her. Something dissuaded her from trying to make him put his tongue back away, though. So she sat there, staring forward at him as he sat happily in the air. Wedged beneath his front legs, she held him by the top of his torso so that his back legs and his butt dangled towards the ground while she sat pretzel-legged on the couch. And he didn’t even seem to care. 

There was a part of it all that Neo genuinely struggled to understand. About the dog that lived in Yang’s house with her. Of course, she understood pets. At least from a very basic perspective. Companionship, she could understand. Avoided it, sure— but she also understood it, to an extent. But still, he was a dog. An  _ animal.  _ A primal, wild, primitive creature. And it  _ lived  _ here. In a house, with people. Conceptually, it just didn’t make a whole lot of sense. On the one hand, she knew why people kept them. But…  _ why? _ Why, as in  _ really,  _ why? Why keep a dog? For hunting? Did he kill pests? Did he help with fights? Was he security, did he attack intruders? Obviously not, considering how little he did to stop Neo when she first arrived here.

That silly, dumb little smile still on his face, his stubbly legs pawed lightly at the air. It drew her eyes to them, and she stared at them for a while. So… small. Certainly too small to do any of the things she’d imagined he might help with, before. Why, then? Unless his size was part of the reason. Could he get in small places? Were there problems he could help solve like that? There was a quiet noise from his muzzle, and he started to slowly stare towards the ceiling. Looking up to his face, Neo slowly realized that he was struggling to see the end of his own snout. 

No, he probably wasn’t going to be solving any sort of problems like that.

So then… why? 

He was silly, unintelligent, small, weak, helpless, far too trusting…

And despite all of this, something about watching him made Neo feel a little warm, inside. More than a few times, she felt an odd urge to smile. At  _ him.  _

So was that the reason then?  _ Because  _ he was so dumb?  _ Because  _ he was so silly? And small, and weak, and helpless, and… 

For a moment, she thought about that. Eyes drifting, she looked into his face and held his gaze. Without realizing it, her head tilted slightly to one side. Like he was mirroring her, he tilted his own head and watched her. She started to feel like he was mimicking every little thing she did. Like he was some weird reflection of her every movement, copying her in every way he could. Or in nearly every way he could, aside from the one— he was still smiling. Her perplexed, confused expression remained the same. Even though she thought he might make her giggle.

_ Because  _ he was silly…

Well, that didn’t seem right. Furrowing her brow, she looked at his white-furred belly that was splayed out to her. Why keep a pet  _ because  _ it was stupid? That was so much smaller and weaker and less intelligent than you. Unless, of course, you liked it that way. 

Maybe he made people  _ feel  _ bigger, and stronger, and smarter. Maybe he made them  _ think  _ they were better than him. Neo was pretty damn small, and even she felt massive in front of him. Maybe you keep a pet like him so you could feel superior over something. Maybe that was the reason.

That made Neo a little angry.

It was difficult to explain exactly  _ why,  _ of course. It was rare for her to feel anything like empathy for someone else, much less an animal. Especially not when that animal was so much weaker and less capable than her. Survival of the fittest, and such. She saw no reason to feel bad for something when it never stood a chance in the first place. But something about keeping a thing like that around,  _ just  _ to make fun of it… that didn’t sit well with her. It might seem silly— it certainly made her feel silly— but Zwei was small. Neo was small. Maybe there was something of a solidarity, that she felt. Like she could understand something about him that most people couldn’t. Of course, it didn’t seem like he paid being small too much mind. After all,  even as he was helplessly held up in the air he kept smiling and smiling at her, like there was no world where anything bad could come of that.

Narrowing her eyes, she pulled him in a bit closer. With her hands full, there was no real way for her to communicate anything, but it wasn’t like it mattered. He was a dog. So she thought to him, and she thought her thoughts hard. Maybe he would in some way understand it, then.

_ I’m going to kill anything that ever tries to hurt you. _

Zwei tilted his head slightly, then swallowed before going back to his smiling. Even as she pulled him in even closer, he didn’t seem to care.

_ I promise. _

He leaned forward and licked her cheek. Surprised, it made her pull back at first. Then she leaned back in. Again, he licked her. Again and again. And again. It was slimy and it smelled awful, but he looked so happy. And for some reason, that made her happy. So she held him closer, feeling his soft fur against her skin, letting him cover her cheek in his gross, warm saliva. And through it all, while he smiled up at her between licks, her face stayed unchanging. Eyes narrow, brow low, still staring in that curious, almost analytical manner. Even if she really did feel like smiling.

Who knew dogs could be so…

Cute.

And that was the sight that Taiyang first saw when he opened the door and stepped inside after weeks away from home. A short, unfamiliar girl with pitch-black hair tied in a ponytail sitting on his couch, her expression as cold as stone while his dog licked her face over and over.

“Uh… hello?”

Whirling around, Neo dropped Zwei and let him land on the couch beside her. Hoping down, he ran straight over to Tai, jumping up and down at his feet. Without taking his eyes off of Neo, he reached down and scratched behind the dog’s ears.

“Good boy, down. Down,” he said quietly to him.

Neo stayed still. In truth, she just didn’t know what to do. 

_ So this was Yang’s dad,  _ she thought to herself. At least, she hoped it was. If it wasn’t, well, then she would have more to worry about. Probably. Slowly, Taiyang stood up straight again.

“So, uh… Who are you?”

It took her a little while to make herself move. This was really not something she expected to have to deal with. Upon reflection, she wasn’t really sure  _ why  _ she didn’t expect it. It never really crossed her mind that Yang obviously didn’t live by herself. This whole time, they had just been lucky enough not to have anyone else around. Ruby had run off somewhere, but she didn’t really know anything about where her dad had been. Or her mother. But Yang had never talked about her at all, so that was no surprise. Hopefully she wasn’t going to show up now, too.

Eventually, Neo realized that she was just sitting there looking dumb. If you walked into your house and saw a stranger sitting there, surely you’d want answers. Being completely honest, Neo should really consider herself lucky that Yang’s dad was even giving her a chance to explain herself. In her experience, most people didn’t give uninvited guests that much benefit of the doubt. Within reason, he could’ve started a fight right then and there. That might’ve done a lot to burn through whatever little goodwill she still had with Yang, at the moment. Thankfully, it looked Yang’s dad was quicker to words, rather than fists. Neo started to guess that maybe Yang took more after her mother than her father, at least in that area. 

But she was getting caught up in her thoughts again.

_ “P-O-L-L-Y,”  _ she had started to sign, hesitating when she saw the way he raised one of his eyebrows.

“If you’re saying something, I don’t know what it is,” he said.

_ Well, shit,  _ she thought.  _ Now what? _

As if to answer her unasked question, that very moment was the moment that Yang chose to come from down the hallway. Staring down at her scroll, she spoke as she came around the corner.

“I don’t know how old these designs are, but they must be an early prototype,” she said, still oblivious to the situation at hand. “The power source is all unoptimized, even I can see that. The whole reactor—”

When she finally looked up, her sentence stopped abruptly. You could even hear the way her breath caught, if only briefly.

“…Dad?”

“Yang,” he smiled at her.

In a second, he looked like he’d stopped caring about Neo already. He moved forward quickly, coming up to Yang and pulling her into a tight hug.

“I missed you so much,” he whispered, kissing the side of her head and putting a calming hand in the back of her hair.

It took her a moment. Still holding her scroll, her arm dangled behind him for a little bit. But slowly, as water faintly built in her eyes, the arm found its way up to his back and squeezed him in return. Her voice was quietly shaky, and it took her a few breaths to get the words out.

“I thought you might be gone…”

“I’m never leaving you,” he hugged her harder. “I promise.”

They stayed there, still and silent, for a little while. Neo sat awkwardly across the room, not exactly sure what to do with herself while she waited for them to part. And Zwei was at their feet, staring up at them happily. So she didn’t even have him to waste her time with anymore. Eventually, they split apart and took a break from each other’s grips.

Brushing something from her eye, Yang looked up at her dad and smiled.

“Took you long enough,” she said, and Neo couldn’t tell if she was holding back laughter, or tears.

“Yeah, well,” he sighed. “Got a bit preoccupied, out there.”

They were quiet again, and then they both chuckled. Then Taiyang turned his gaze back, nodding to Neo on the couch. It made her take in a deep breath.

“So, looks like you’ve got to introduce me to someone,” he said.

“Oh,” Yang looked like she’d nearly forgotten about her… guest. “Yeah, right. About that…”

 

— — — 

 

Neo was sitting by herself again. Even after Yang explained everything to her dad— leaving out certain specifics of Neo’s plans and desires, of course— she still sat there quietly. Drifting, her attention found its way to the fireplace across the room. The crackles were faint and soft, almost noiseless in a space of already near silence. Licking the brick walls of the chimney, the flames rose up and danced about, loose and uncontrolled. And yet, even as they flashed and sparked, they remained bound. Held down, restrained to the very wood that gave them life. For every height they reached as they tongued for the sky, they simply came right back down in a cascade of sparks and embers. They reared up then rode back to the floor, letting the fire reignite itself. Each flame that flew up and down made the pit grow hotter, brighter, more alive— and as it grew and grew, it burned the wood beneath it faster and faster. It ate the very source of itself, chewing away bit by bit, blacking the bark like ink and crumbling the core like old bread. Some sort of divine irony, it seemed like. The fire almost melted itself away.

But it would burn a while longer still, and the smoke would keep climbing through the hardened clay of the chimney. Some sort of black beacon over the house, a sign of life, and warmth. Neo wondered where the smoke would float off to. Where in the heavens would it escape to? Would it drift through the gray clouds, up and up and up into the glittering stars until it was free, unchained,  _ truly  _ unbound? Or would it just… fade away, vanishing at the apex of the world into a blank, empty nothingness that she could not know or understand? Maybe. Maybe it would make something of itself. Maybe it would waste its existence in some pointless, self-destructive endeavor. Maybe it would vanish meaninglessly, unwillful and untrying, allowing itself to decay and dissolve in some tired mess. 

Maybe this was all sounding a little familiar.

One step at a time, Neo pushed off the couch and rose to her feet. The kitchen was empty as well, and she found her way to the sink. The water was cold, like the outside frost, but it felt smooth and calming as it splashed over her face. The drops rolled down her skin and she almost thought she looked like she was crying. Then she shook her head, brushing the thought aside. As she dried her face off, she could hear Yang and her dad talking down the hall. Usually, she didn’t have any qualms with eavesdropping on people. Nothing was different this time.

“You really cleared out the shed, huh?” Taiyang said, marveling over the wide array of tools and parts scattered across Yang’s floor. Even the massive workbench had been pushed into her room.

“Yeah, you can thank Polly for that,” Yang waved off. “Wasn’t exactly like I asked her to do it, really.”

“Well, I might have to do that,” he said nodding, after a second.

She looked over at him, subtle confusion in her face. Taiyang was good at picking up subtleties in his daughters, though.

“What?” He smiled at her. “You think I’d be annoyed by a little mess? It’s not like we’re strapped for space, or anything.”

Then he nodded out the window, to the snow-layered grounds.

“Besides, none of that stuff was getting used anyway.”

“I guess,” Yang said after a moment, looking back towards the junk scattered across the floor.

Taiyang watched her for a moment. After a few seconds, he shook his head and chuckled lightly.

“Yang, I mean, come on,” he said. “Look at this. This— this is what I wanted for you. This is what I hoped you would decide to do.”

“What’s that mean?” She looked up at him.

“Well, maybe not this  _ specifically,”  _ he chuckled again. “But in essence.”

She kept looking at him, still that slight uncertainty in her eyes. Stepping closer to her, he reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently.

“You’re up. You’re on your feet. You’re  _ trying,  _ again,” his smile was as soft as his grip. “And I have her to thank for that.”

Dropping slightly, Yang’s eyes shifted back to the floor. 

“I guess so…”

Through a sigh, he kept smiling.

“You’re lucky, you know,” he said. “To have a friend who cares enough about you, that they go through this—”

He gestured to all of the things around the room.

“Just to help you.”

Yang took in a deep breath.

“Yeah, right,” she nodded faintly. “That’s why…”

“I mean, she managed to get ahold of an Atlas prototype,” he said, looking at the partially disassembled robot leaning against the wall. Luckily, he couldn’t see the little message that had been left on it for her. It had been tiring for her to read that every day for the past couple of weeks, so Yang rolled the head underneath her bedframe.

“And the blueprints, too,” he continued. “I mean, where did she even get those anyway?”

“To be honest,” Yang sighed. “I haven’t really bothered to ask.”

Nodding, he shrugged.

“Well, I won’t ask either,” he smiled and winked. “I think I can turn a blind eye, as long as I don’t know for sure.”

Glancing at him before looking back at the arm sitting on her desk, she sighed again. It was a ways away from finished, but she’d made progress. But the arm was about the only progress she’d made. Nothing in her attitude had seemed to even begin to change. If you asked Yang, the only reason she was doing it was to get her little  _ friend  _ off her back. Although she would have to admit that it did sound useful, to have two working arms again. But that was neither here nor there.

“What made you think to use your bike for parts, anyway?” He glanced over his shoulder, to the hallway. 

Bumblebee was sitting out there, pressed against the wall. Its casing was opening and interiors exposed, taken apart partially. It was a little sad to see it in such a state. For so many years, Yang had work to perfect it with every little idea that she had. Even if she wouldn’t admit it, she would miss it without a doubt. But for Tai, the choice between a bike or an arm for his daughter was an easy one to make.

“That was Polly’s idea too, actually,” she said after a minute. “I didn’t think I would have the parts to do it, until she suggested that.”

“Pretty smart,” he said, nodding. 

“Yeah, guess it was,” Yang said quietly.

Looking at her for a moment, he reached out again and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Well, she knew you could get it done,” he said. “Because you can. You’re gonna get this working. I know you will. She knows too.”

Brushing his arm off of her, she stepped away and over to her desk.

“Yeah, sure,” she spoke coldly. “I’m just gonna get back to work.”

All over again, Neo was sitting on the couch. After that, she stopped listening. Taiyang might’ve said something else, but she didn’t pay it any attention. Instead, she was staring at the carpet, thinking. Some of the words— the things that she’d heard— they were running through her head, over and over, round and round, back and forth. It was difficult to make sense of it all. 

_ Just to help her. _

Obviously, Taiyang doesn’t know her actual plan. Yang had pretty specifically avoided saying that. Just like she’d elected to exclude what their relationship entirely was  _ before  _ the Fall. And Neo didn’t blame her for any of that. If she could speak, she would’ve done the very same. But still, it made her think. It made her  _ wonder _ . She found herself almost questioning… questioning herself. Her own plans. And it wasn’t that she doubted those plans. Make no mistake, she knew her intentions. Roman was dead. It was Cinder’s fault. And it was Ruby’s fault, too, but that was a bridge she’d cross when she came to it. The important part was that the plan was  _ revenge.  _ That’s what she was going to get, and Yang just happened to have that interest in mind. Well, she didn’t actually, at least according to her, but Neo knew Yang was just having problems seeing it. It was taking longer than she expected, but she  _ would  _ turn Yang back into a fighter again. Because she needed her help. For her revenge. And that was it. That was the reason. The  _ only  _ reason. 

_ Unless it wasn’t. _

But it was. Before the Fall, Neo did  _ like  _ Yang. She was willing to admit that. But the past was the past. And she left Yang for a reason. Roman came before all, to Neo. And paying his death back was before all, as well. So Yang just happened to be a convenient way of getting herself to that goal. That’s all this was, just a mutually beneficial relationship. 

_ Unless it wasn’t. _

But, still… maybe this wasn’t necessarily the best way to  _ actually  _ get Yang back into fighting shape. At this point, she was all but telling all this to Yang. Minus certain specifics, obviously, but it must be pretty bluntly obvious that the only reason Neo was helping her was to get her own revenge. Even without saying it, it was pretty clear that Neo is really entirely self-interested here. Not in Yang. So maybe Neo should try to change that. If she told her what Yang’s dad had said— that she  _ cared,  _ that she was doing this all  _ just to help her,  _ that she  _ knew she could do it—  _ then maybe Yang would believe her. Maybe that was all it would take. A lie, or two. Neo knew how to lie. She was good at that. And that’s all it would be. A lie.

_ Unless. _

 

— — — 

 

The sun had already begun to set, and still Neo could be found sitting on the couch. Pulled up beneath her, her legs were crisscrossed and she looked down with focused intent at the sheet of paper in her hands. It seemed to glow up at her, bright and yellow in the draining sunlight. Carefully, precisely, and particularly, she bent and folded the paper in and out, over and under, forward and backward. Manipulating and articulating it like a fine-tuned and complex piece of equipment. Its edges turned and formed until they weren’t edges anymore— or maybe they never were. Not in Neo’s eyes, if nothing else. They came to life, they moved and grew and breathed and closed together to form something that the human gaze couldn’t see it as. But it was always there. Always present. To Neo, at the very least. No matter what, she could always see what the sheet of paper was. What it was meant to be. Even when it was flat, still, and shapeless. It was already what it was meant to be, she only had to help it find its structure. Its body, its limbs, its edges— its  _ real  _ edges. It was not the canvas, and she was not the painter. It was the trees, the mountains, the waterfall, the seaside hills— and Neo was just the cleaner, peeling the rust and junk away so that all could see it. And they would see it. They  _ would  _ see. 

A soft sound pulled her attention upward. Lifting her head, she looked to the doorway. It was him— Yang’s dad. Taiyang. Swiftly, she slipped the paper into her back pocket. For a second he just stood there, looking like he wanted to smile, but at the same time like he wasn’t sure if that was right. It was obvious to her, she could read it off his skin. Socialization wasn’t Neo’s area of expertise— she really didn’t know how to interact with people on a personal level. But as threats? As targets, enemies? As _prey?_ Those were things she could understand. Easily, all the way to a fundamental level. So looking into Taiyang’s eyes, watching his face and paying keen attention to his every movement— no matter how slight, subtle, or minor— she could see it in him clear as day. Uncertain. Unsure. Perhaps a little nervous? No, not quite. He wasn’t afraid of what Neo might do or say. Even if he should be. It was about what _he_ should do. Should he speak to her? How should he treat her? Who was she, really? Those were the questions in running through his head right now. Neo didn’t need to be able to read minds to see inside of other people’s skulls. No, she had her senses. Her sight. And her sight was far better than most.

But then, in a blink, it was gone. All of that cloudiness, lack of clarity— it vanished from his face in an instant. Faster than a twitch. So fast you might not even notice. In its place, Neo saw something else— resolve. Confidence, clarity, certainty.  _ Trust.  _

Perhaps Neo’s sight wasn’t quite as good as she thought it was.

“Hey, Polly— right?” He came into the room all the way, walking over to Neo. Smiling this time.

She nodded.

“Well, I made some food— dinner,” he continued. “You’re welcome to have some if you want. It’s not much, just what I could pull together. Guess I didn’t have time to hit a store, did I?”

He chuckled, then trailed off when he noticed the way she stared at him blankly. So cold, unemotive. For a few moments, she was unresponsive. In silence, she just sat. Eventually, she looked up at him and nodded again, faintly this time. His smile came back again. It was a bright, friendly smile. Neo thought it was obnoxious. It also reminded her of Yang.

“Great, it’s ready in five,” he started to turn, then looked back. As quickly as he had her attention, he lost it. Drifting off, Neo found herself staring out the window.

“Hey, uh, one more thing?”

Slowly, she turned to him again. Her face was just as blank and empty as before.

“Well, I just wanted to say thank you,” he said, smiling once again. “For what you’re doing. Yang is— well, I know that she can be… difficult, but she’s special. I know every dad probably says that about his daughter, but…” 

He trailed off for a moment, thinking about what to say. Meanwhile, Neo thought a little about what he already did say.

_ Yeah, dads do say those things,  _ she thought.  _ Don’t they? _

“She really is something else. She’s stronger than she thinks,” he continued, exhaling slightly. “But she needs a little push, and I can’t give it to her. So… thank you. For trying. For giving it to her. I owe you everything I have.”

Neo nodded faintly, before starting to drift off again.

“Seriously, if there’s anything you ever need, just ask. It’s the least I can do.”

She didn’t bother to nod this time. After a while, she heard him turn away and head back to the kitchen. 

_ Just a little push. _

It was looking like a hell of a lot more than a  _ little push  _ at the moment. This part was supposed to be the easy part. This was  _ supposed  _ to just be a little task, a small portion over her much longer journey ahead. A minor setback. It was  _ supposed  _ to just take a little push. Maybe a mild shove, at most. That’s what Neo had expected. But here she was, sitting on the couch, about to eat dinner with Yang’s family. Well, part of her family, at least. But still. Semantics.

After some more deliberation she slid her feet down onto the floor and stood, making way for the kitchen.

_ Might as well just get this over with.  _

Eventually she found herself at a table, plates and silverware arranged on the table in some random way that looked a little more particular than random, now that Neo thought about it. The smell of the food was strong, and she could tell that it was hot. Some kind of meat, by the scent of it. There was corn, as well. That was it. Just corn, and meat of some kind. But Neo didn’t think of it that way. In all her years, as long as she’d been alive, she’d never smelled food so good. And she’d smelled a lot of different foods. Granted, mostly they weren’t prepared. Not nicely, at least. The lunch halls at Beacon seemed nearly fancy, compared to what she was used to. But this? This blew that out of the water. And she hadn’t even  _ eaten  _ any of it, yet.

Yang was sitting across from her. There was that same usual emptiness in her eyes that Neo had grown used to over the past weeks. Even after forcing her to work on the arm, she could tell how little Yang actually cared. Sure, she was cooperating, to an extent— but it was going to be the same cold, uncaring brick wall as before once she was finished building it. You could guess that without being able to predict the future. 

Sitting at the head of the table was Taiyang, diagonal to both of them. Waiting, he sat still as they took their seats and got ready to eat. 

“Meatloaf,” Yang said, almost emotive enough to be called a groan. “Really?”

“Hey,” Taiyang smiled and shrugged. “It’s not my fault that’s all you left.”

“Sure it is,” Yang picked up her fork as she spoke. “You’re the one who keeps it around.”

“Oh, come on,” he mocked offense. “It’s not that bad.”

“This could’ve been the only thing left in the house for a week, and you’d still find it in the fridge when you got home.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Taiyang chuckled. In turn, Yang let out a faint laugh as well. They shared in a moment of laughter for a little bit, before returning to their meals. Meanwhile, Neo sat in silence. Watching them as they ate, she slowly took the fork into her hand and turned it over carefully. She prodded at the slab of meat on her plate for a few seconds, a familiar sense rolling over her. Uncertainty, wariness, mistrust. None of it thought, maybe none of it even conscious— just purely instinctual. It caught notice from Taiyang, after a little while.

“You can eat it you know. It won’t bite,” he said. “Really, it’s not  _ that  _ bad.”

Glancing up at him, she tentatively dragged the plate closer to herself and prodded it some more.

“It’s not poison,” he said, smiling. “I promise.”

_ Like you would tell me if it was,  _ she thought silently.

But, after some more careful poking, she eventually pushed the fork further in. It was soft, and it tore away easily. Raising it to her mouth, she sniffed it once. It smelled… smokey. In a good way. Taiyang watched out of the corner of his eye, but she ignored him. Yang didn’t pay her any attention at all. 

Finally, she took a small bite from the piece in front of her, chewing it deliberately and slowly. At first, it was hot. Then it was just warm. It chewed easily, not much in the way of resistance to her teeth. There was a very full flavor to it. Meaty, and dense. The taste was strong, but not overwhelming. It tasted like a tightly packed mix of so many different things, all at once. Like how she imagined a rainbow in a blender would be. It went down smoothly when she was finished chewing. And when she swallowed it, she wanted more.

The rest of her meal seemed to vanish very quickly. Probably because it did— and both Yang and her dad noticed. 

“You can have seconds, you know,” he said with a slight chuckle. 

She looked at him, uncertainty flooding back all over again.

“Here,” he reached over, taking another piece from the platter in the middle of the table and putting it on her plate.

Eyes slightly narrowed, she watched him. Eventually, she reached forward to take a bite of her new piece. It tasted the same, and it went down just the same as well. This time when she finished, she reached for another piece on her own. She did it quietly and slowly, almost like she wasn’t trying to be caught. Maybe she wasn’t. She glanced at Taiyang.

“Go ahead,” he nodded. “Help yourself. There’s plenty more.”

This piece was exactly like the first two. So were the three more pieces she took, after this one.

“See?” He said, smiling still. “Someone appreciates my meatloaf.”

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Yang said, shaking her head and sighing.

The plate in front of her was far more still, more untouched, than the one across from her. Half-heartedly nudging her food, she sighed and stared at it with disinterest. Only a bite had been taken, and that was using a very liberal definition of the word “bite.” 

They sat silently again, for a little while. It only broke when Taiyang decided to make conversation.

“So, Polly,” he said. 

If only for a few seconds, she tore her eyes away from her plate and glanced up at Yang’s father. 

“Where are you from?”

She grew still. So did Yang— well, if she could even grow more still than she was— but for a different reason. Obviously. It never really occurred to Neo, but Yang didn’t know any of that stuff about her. There were the things she was keeping secret, of course, but sometimes it was easy to forget just how  _ little  _ Yang actually knew about her. Over the past couple weeks, Yang had been by far the person Neo had spent the most time with. Maybe she just wasn’t used to that person being someone who didn’t know who she was. Just wasn’t used to that person not being Roman.

Slowly, Neo decided to respond. And she did so with a shrug.

“You don’t know?” Taiyang raised an eyebrow slightly and lowered his fork. 

Again, she just shrugged.

“Well, you have to be from somewhere,” Taiyang said.

Neo was still again, unsure of how to respond. Meanwhile, Yang watched her quietly, keeping her head bent towards her plate.

Signing an answer after a while, Yang spoke up to translate.

“She says she’s from Vale,” Yang said, sounding very intentionally blank in her own reaction. 

“What part of Vale?”

Just a shrug, again.

“Just, Vale?” He raised his eyebrows further.

A nod, this time.

“So, what?” He thought for a moment. “You moved around, a lot?”

Hesitation. Then, another nod.

“Didn’t get to stick in one place, for very long?”

Another nod.

“Is your family from Vale?”

There was a stillness, again. But this wasn’t a stillness like before. You couldn’t just  _ see  _ the ceaseless unmoving of her. You could  _ feel  _ it. Frozen, only without the cold. Empty, unmoving, see-through. Like she was made of glass.

There was no answer this time.

Eventually, Taiyang filled the gap for her.

“That’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

The silence crept its way back in. 

Neo didn’t notice, but Yang had begun to stare at her. It was subtle, difficult to catch. But she watched her, for certain. Rather than eat, Yang watched the girl sitting across from her, gazing motionlessly down at an empty plate. So unaware of who she actually was looking at. Wordlessly, Yang stood. Rising, she took her plate and put it in the sink. There was nearly the same amount of food on it as when she started eating. Just as movement found its way back into Neo, Yang disappeared down the hallway to her room. There was almost a creaking noise, with how Neo’s eyes turned after where Yang had gone. A faint sigh could be heard slipping from Taiyang’s lips, but Neo ignored it. What he was thinking didn’t matter to her, right now. 

Her own feet found their way to the ground. As she left the table, she pulled the yellow paper from her pocket again. Without looking at it, she folded it and bent it and shaped it as she followed Yang’s invisible trail. Like tiny blurs, she moved her hands swiftly. Far faster than when she had been sitting on the couch.

Turning the corner, she stepped into Yang’s room. Sitting on the edge of her bed, Yang stared out the window at the white, nighttime world beyond.

“Snow’s not sticking as much anymore. Winter’s probably only got a month left,” she said. 

There was a sadness in her eyes when she turned to face Neo. More emotion than she’d shown all day. Maybe in a few days. It was hard to keep track.

“What are you doing, Polly?” She asked. “What do you want from me? Why are you still trying with me, when you’ve got— you’ve whatever the hell it is you’ve got waiting for you, out there?”

Without responding, Neo walked through the mess of Yang’s room, between the scraps and tools scattered across the floor, over her desk, and on the furniture. The floor held her gaze, as she kept on with the paper in her hands below her.

“What do you really think I’m gonna do for you? What, do you really think you’re gonna make me into some kind of— some kind of fighter, who’ll help you with— with your… with your whatever,” she said, looking at the floor and sighing. 

There was no anger, no frustration, no aggression in her voice. Not even a little. It was quiet, faint, and sad. Almost… helpless. Not confused, not scared, not worried. Just helpless. Helpless in a way that asked,  _ begged,  _ for help. Desperately. But as much as you could hear it and find it in the tone, it would still push it away. It might sound like it wanted your help, but you would never hear it ask for it. Never intentionally.

Which is why it needs help the most.

“Why do you think I’m sitting here, Polly? Do you think I would— that I would be— that…” Her voice trailed, and she sighed as she shook her head. “They left me. Just like they always do. Just like they always leave me. Because they  _ always  _ leave me.”

She looked up, staring up at the moon.

“It keeps happening. It always happens. They left me—” She paused, looking back at Neo. “ _ You  _ left me.”

Lowering her eyes again, she stared at her bedsheets and looked like she wanted to grip them tightly.

“They all left me. Again,” she said, turned to the window once more. “It can’t be a coincidence. It’s  _ not  _ just a coincidence. That doesn’t happen. It just doesn’t. And I can’t keep acting like it does. I can’t keep pretending that it’s someone else’s fault. I can’t act like I have anyone to blame. Like I have anyone to blame, aside from me.”

Drifting to silence for a moment, she gradually turned back to Neo again before continuing. 

“When… When do you look at yourself and start to think, maybe… Maybe I’m the problem?” It almost looked like there was a tear in her eye. “There has to be a reason. There  _ has  _ to be. It  _ doesn’t just happen. _ ”

Sighing, her eyes found their way to window once again.

“So it’s my fault. It’s gotta be,” she nodded, her voice catching for a brief second. “There’s no other way. There can’t be. Because if it wasn’t my fault…”

She looked at Neo one last time.

“Then why would they leave?”

Neo found herself just a foot or so short of Yang’s bed. Gently, she lowered herself onto the opposite edge as Yang. Moving like silent lighting, her hands kept working on the paper that she held onto. Almost carefully, she moved her eyes up to meet Yang’s gaze. And she hesitated, briefly. She wasn’t sure why. She wasn’t sure what there was to hesitate about. But then she stopped hesitating. Still jade in color, her eyes locked with the gray, lifeless lilacs that were Yang’s. Keeping her face straight and still, she dropped the paper into her lap, finally finished helping to find its form. Yang still didn’t seem to notice it. So Neo spoke swiftly, directly, and purposefully.

_ “Fine. They left you. Do you know why they left you?” _

For a second, it looked like Yang was going to answer. But she didn’t. 

_ “They left you because they doubt you,”  _ she said.  _ “They don’t think you’re weak. They know who you are. But they forget.” _

Neo leaned in, closing the distance between herself and Yang.

_ “They think you gave up. And you know what?”  _ She signed.  _ “You’re proving them right. Don’t.” _

Turning, she faced Yang more directly.

_ “That’s why you fight. That’s why  _ we  _ fight. Because they forget who we are. Who  _ you  _ are. Remind them.  _ That’s  _ why you have to fight.” _

Taking the paper from her lap, she pushed it forwards into Yang’s hand. Bright yellow, it was a dragon. Powerful and strong wings, a long tail like a viper, and a mighty fanged face. It felt like it was staring right up at Yang, right  _ into  _ her, past every barrier and shield she tried to defend herself with. When she looked up, Neo said the rest. Mouthing the words as clearly and concisely as she could, she said what she had to say— and what Yang had to hear.

_ “To. Prove. Them. Wrong.” _


	13. New Wounds, Old Scars

**XIII**

**_New Wounds, Old Scars_ **

— — —  

_ “I'm starting with the man in the mirror _

_ I'm asking him to change his ways” _

_ — — —  _

As the frost and ice finally started to recede, it passed quietly through the nights so gradually that you almost couldn’t notice. But it thinned and thinned until the surrounding fields nearby were all nearly entirely vacant of the snow. Deeper into the forest, however, it still clung tightly to the earth. There were even still pale white caps on the tops of the trees, swaying gently in the bitter winds. And the ground was still cold and hard beneath your shoes, slightly damp in the aftermath of the blizzards and storms. 

It was that ground that Yang found herself face first in.

Pushing her hands into the dirt, she grit her teeth and looked forward. Grunting angrily, she forced herself back up to her feet and raised her arms again. Something around five seconds passed before she was knocked back into the mud once more, this time on to her back. Curses flew from her tongue. Rolling onto her knees, she stood and kicked up dirt behind her. Tight fists rose up in front of her chest and she listened. She listened to the soft whistle of the wind. She listened to the quiet drip of melted snow falling onto the grass. She listened to the faint running of a stream somewhere hidden off among the trees. She listened to the soft patter of some small, quick animal darting across a patch of dead old leaves that had managed to last since months prior. She listened to the sound of her own breath, the way it quickened and blew through the cracks of her teeth in hot, thin billows. Keeping her feet planted, she spun around and around as she tried to watch every angle, trying to gather every bit of information and every detail around her. The slopes of the ground, each gap between trees at the forest’s edge, every rock or pebble that rested along the hillside. She tried to watch all these at once, without dropping her guard or relaxing her stance. She tried to see everything. She tried to hear everything.

But she heard it too late, and she never saw it at all.

The whipping of fabric in the wind, flying towards her, was too quick for her to turn in time, and so once again she found herself on the ground, this time flat on her ass.

“Fuck!” She yelled.

This time she didn’t bother getting back up. The hard ground beneath her gave much in the way of resistance when she threw her fists down on to it. She leaned backward, falling straight out into the grass. The pale blue sky stared down at her, and she stared back up at it. Faint, almost crystalline white clouds of breath billowed from her lips as she huffed. Her eyes followed a cloud for a bit, before they rolled back to focus on the empty black nothingness behind her skull. She let herself fall back and sink into the dirt beneath her.

“I give up,” she groaned loudly as she spoke.

Polly was standing a few feet to her side now, holding a thin stick she’d turned into a practice weapon. Yang wasn’t sure how long she’d been standing there, but that hardly surprised her. 

_ “You can’t give up,”  _ Polly signed flatly.

“And why’s that?”

_ “You’re not allowed to,”  _ Polly shrugged as she responded.

“Yeah, well, I do,” Yang spat. “I’m not gonna be beating you any time soon.”

_ “Then we work harder.” _

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” she propped herself back up again, “But I  _ really  _ can’t work much harder than this.”

She raised her right arm, thrusting it forward at Polly.

“It’s this stupid arm,” she said. “It’s throwing me off balance, and it’s slowing me down.”

The aforementioned arm was shaking slightly. Yang wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the stress, but she didn’t pay it any mind either way. The silver, slightly scuffed metal of the arm looked pale and bright in the white light of the sky, but not in a way that she liked. It was dull, unshined and unpolished. Of course, she could do something about that. Maybe she would deal with that later. Or maybe she wouldn’t bother. Black fibers of the interior mechanics visible between the outside plating were the only parts where the scrapes and scratches weren’t clearly visible. The armor plates covered most of the arm, broken into sections that extended enough to offer protection but not too far to restrict movement. The backhand plate went up just slightly past the knuckles, which she wagged for effect. In truth, pretty much everything about the arm had been a great success. What she had managed to accomplish with her limited access to parts and lack of professional resources was largely impressive. Her dad said it, Polly had admitted it, and Yang had almost even acknowledged it herself. Almost. But while it was useful in eating her food or putting on her clothes, it had been a struggle to make it work in combat. Adapting to its weight, the way it moved, and how it felt had proven a bigger challenge than building the thing. After close to two weeks of training— intense, rigorous training— she still didn’t feel even close to the fighter she once was.

_ “Don’t blame the arm,”  _ Polly shook her head.  _ “You made it, after all.” _

“Yeah, well maybe that’s why I should blame it.”

Polly rolled her eyes.

_ “It’s not the arm.” _

Yang looked up at her, sighing and putting her arms up.

“Then what is it?” Her voice was snide and cold. “Really. I’d love for you to tell me.”

Jamming her stick into the ground, Polly strode forward to beside Yang,

_ “You’re treating it like a weapon,”  _ she said.  _ “But it’s not. You’re acting like it isn’t a part of you now, but it is.” _

“Right,” Yang nodded, rolling her own eyes. “And just what the hell do you know about this?”

_ “Enough.” _

“Enough?” Yang looked almost incredulous. “What kind of bullshit is that?  _ Enough?  _ Since when was  _ nothing  _ enough?”

Polly shrugged.

_ “I used to be…”  _ She paused.  _ “Associates, with someone who’d lost limbs. I’m just basing it off what I saw.” _

“And this ‘associate’—” She waved her hand mockingly. “They told you that? They told you what you just told me?”

_ “No,”  _ she said.  _ “But I watched how he used his prosthetics. And he didn’t use them like you.” _

“Oh, of course,” Yang said. “So it’s then  _ completely  _ horseshit, not just  _ mostly  _ horseshit.”

Polly sighed silently and turned, walking away from Yang. 

“You know I lost an  _ arm,  _ right?” Yang said after her. “I lost an arm. A  _ part  _ of me. Stop pretending you know what that feels like.”

Polly turned around and stared at her for a moment.

Slowly, she responded, her face dry and expressionless.

_ “But I do.” _

“Yeah, sure you do. How?”

Again, Polly just stared. For quite a while, actually, she kept her cold and empty glare focused on Yang. She was motionless, a statue in the chilled yard, watching Yang with what felt like an almost calculated level of emotionless. There was a small part of Yang that was starting to think that maybe Polly had a point. But of course, that feeling passed after the stare was broken and Polly turned again, walking away once more. Not before Yang felt a shiver course through her body, though. 

Yang turned away and stared at the grass beside her. It was largely drained of color, multiple brown and yellow blades sprouting from the ground only for their tips to meet the ground elsewhere, like arches. Some of them were still standing, clinging onto the last wisps of life left inside them. Fewer still, though, poked through the crowds, erect and green, like faded emerald beacons. They remained resilient, pushing back somehow against the world around them, resisting the urge to tumble like the rest of the blades around them. They rose out and up, strong and stouthearted— or maybe they were just stupid and stubborn. 

The definitions of those words had started to blur, for Yang.

A clicking noise from Polly’s mouth drew her attention away from the ground. She looked up, seeing Polly standing over by an exercise bag and some workout gear. In one of her hands was a small sack, one that Yang had never seen before. Before she had time to ask, it was soaring through the air towards her. On reaction she caught it with her left, dropping it into her right and turning it over in her palm. 

“What’s this?” She asked.

_ “You want to treat something like a weapon? Fine,”  _ Polly signed back.  _ “Then use a real weapon. But stop treating your arm like it is one.” _

Yang glanced at her sourly, then looked back down to the back. The light brown fabric was rough and course, the kind that left a faint itchy feeling on your skin. It was kept shut by a thin string that seemed to have been tied hastily but carefully. There was a familiar weight to the back, slightly heavier than you might expect— but still light enough to lift with ease. She carefully pulled the tie open. The sack unfurled completely, laying out as a simple cloth in her hand. On top of it, staring back up at Yang, shining like a distant and forgotten memory, was Ember Celica. Not the left one, of course, she still had that one. It was the right one, the one she’d lost. Slightly beaten, there were hints of wear and tear in the scraped paint and scuff marks. Still, it was in one piece, and it was still that same shade of pure, lively yellow. There were even spots where she could see that it had been mended— an amateur job mending job, but a mending job nonetheless— from some sort of dents. Polly wasn’t the best smith, but she’d clearly done her best. And it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?

That actually touched Yang, a little. It touched her a lot more than she expected she’d ever be willing to admit to Polly.

Or to herself.

“Where did you get this?”

Polly looked at her, then shrugged.

_ “How do you think I found out about your arm?” _

Yang looked at her for a moment, then back down at the gauntlet. After a little while, she picked it up and methodically spun it around, sliding it around her robotic wrist. It didn’t fit perfectly— her new wrist was thicker than her old one— but she could fix that. At least she had it back, now. Maybe she could find some way to integrate it into her arm.

Gradually, she rose to her feet and turned her attention back to Polly.

“I…” She struggled with her words, for a second. “Thank you, I…”

Waving her off, Polly turned away.

_ “Whatever,”  _ she signed before pulling off her shirt, leaving her only wearing a sports bra to cover her top.

Yang raised an eyebrow.

“What are you doing?”

Polly turned back to face her, approaching her and stopping a few feet away. When she got closer, Yang noticed something she’d never seen before— all along Polly’s body, from her the base of her neck to the top of her hips, were scars. Scars of varying sizes and shapes, some wide and short, some long and thin. Some were curved, some were straight. There were ones that look like rips, like from bad falls or rough collisions. Yang had a few of those. But other ones looked more… brutal. Some were hard to make out. Some were obviously from some sort of cut, whether that be a blade, or a claw, or a tooth, or something else. There were a few that looked like burns, and a couple of those looked suspiciously like… Well, Yang didn’t know exactly  _ what  _ they looked like they were caused by. But they definitely weren’t from touching a hot pan. Some of the scars even seemed to go beyond her waistband, obscured from further daylight by her pants. It left what her legs looked like up to the imagination.

Which was especially weird to Yang, because if she remembered correctly— which she did— this was the same girl that she’d  _ slept  _ with. More than a few times.

“Are those new?” She pointed towards the scars. 

Polly glanced down for a moment. There was a visible tension in her body now, which was a rare sight to see.

_ “No,”  _ she said after a while. 

“Why haven’t I seen them before?”

It looked like Polly thought about what she was going to say. It  _ looked  _ like she was going to say something. It  _ looked  _ like she wanted to say something.

But Polly just shrugged.

“How didn’t I see them when we—” It was hard for her to acknowledge what they used to be, for some reason that she couldn’t place. “Before.”

Again, a shrug.

_ “We only ever fucked in the dark,”  _ she added, after a second.

Yang wanted to say that that didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Because it didn’t. Polly was right, yes, the only times they’d been naked together were in the night, deep into the darkness of some empty classroom— or other places, on more adventurous nights. But that it wasn’t like they couldn’t  _ see  _ each other. Yang would think she’d have noticed them, at least once. Some of them looked like she should’ve  _ felt  _ them. So it didn’t seem like that was a very valid answer. It  _ seemed  _ like Polly was hiding something from her.

But instead of saying any of those things, Yang just brushed it off. She decided to just let it go. Maybe Polly was telling the truth, maybe Yang just hadn’t noticed it. In truth, she really just didn’t feel like thinking any deeper about it. It was a lot easier to second guess herself these days, anyway.

Also, there was  _ maybe  _ the fact that seeing Polly’s exposed body again after so long made her feel a little horny. And on top of that, she was also discovering that apparently she had a thing for hot girls with scars.

It took her a moment to shake her head and push away those thoughts.

“So… Why aren’t you wearing your shirt, exactly?”

Tilting her head to either side, there was an audible pop from Polly’s neck.

_ “You could hear the flapping of my shirt when I came at you,”  _ she answered.  _ “That’s a crutch. I’m not going to let you keep using it.” _

Groaning, Yang looked up at the sky. A heavy breath slid from her lips before she dropped her eyes back to Polly.

“I already told you, I’m done training,” Yang said.

_ “You’re not done,”  _ Polly cracked her knuckles between signs.  _ “Not until I say you’re done.” _

“You’re delusional.”

_ “And you’re lazy.” _

“Fuck you,” Yang shot.

_ “Then stop complaining and prove me wrong.” _

Gritting her teeth, Yang clenched her fists.

“You’re insane _. _ When are you just gonna give up?”

Polly shrugged.

_ “Not now.” _

Yang gave a dismissive snort.

“Obviously,” she said, looking away. Then she looked back at Polly. “You know you can’t just brute force your way through every problem, right? You’re just doing the same thing, over and over again. It doesn’t work like that.”

She crossed her arms.

“Sometimes you have to do more than just ram your head into a wall, over and over again.”

_ “Yeah, I guess you should know,”  _ Polly answered casually.

Yang furrowed her brow. She felt a faint heat, inside.

“What?”

_ “I’m just saying,”  _ Polly shrugged again, then nodded at Yang’s arm.  _ “You know a thing or two about ramming your head into walls.” _

Flashing pearly whites, Yang felt the heat grow.

“Excuse me?”

_ “I’m just saying what I’ve seen,”  _ Polly said. 

Yang raised her fists. 

“Fuck you,” she snarled.

All she got in response was that obnoxious, eerily familiar smirk that just made her  _ oh-so-angry. _

Part of her knew, in the back of her mind, a voice telling her, whispering to her, that this was exactly what Polly wanted.

But most of her didn’t care.

 

— — — 

 

The soft crackling of the fireplace made a good match for the quiet noises of metallic tinkering. They played together gently, meeting in a calm, almost comforting harmony. There was something oddly soothing about hearing them, warm and far away from the wilted, cold night landscape. Even after the storms had passed, the brown world outside was still a far cry from pleasant. The dimly lit living room felt like its own safe, warm little box, where you could go about your business and do you thing with some level of security.

Even Neo wanted to call it cozy. It just felt… homely. It was strange, really. At least to her. There weren’t very many places on Remnant that she felt safe. They could have steel walls, thick exterior platings, alarm systems, booby traps, or any other excessive security measures that any normal person couldn’t imagine taking— but in the end, there was always that same nagging in the back of her brain. That voice, whispering to her— telling her that she needed to stay ready, keep her attention up, always be perceptive. And slowly, surely, the longer that voice talked to her, the longer it told her things and whispered things and commanded her things, the more and more those security measures seemed to fade away, trivialized by the hundreds upon thousands upon millions of ways that she could think of everything going all wrong. And when they faded, well… Then you’re just in a tight little box, claustrophobic and trapped, cornered like a rat as soon as someone does find a way inside.

So you move on. You always move on. That had been one of Roman’s mottos, and it was one of hers. Keep moving, stay mobile. You were always safer when you had a quick way out. 

But something about this place, it just felt different. It didn’t have any of those securities. It didn’t have electric fences, or barbed wire, or bear traps, or 10-inch thick armored metal walls. And it wasn’t some makeshift outpost, like a quick and dirty little campsite or an abandoned apartment. It was just a… a house. And that was nice, for some reason.

Of course, let’s not get too hasty with ourselves. Neo felt comfortable. This place  _ did  _ feel homely, and that  _ was  _ odd. But that didn’t mean she felt totally  _ safe.  _ She just felt safer than she expected. But she didn’t ever feel totally safe, so maybe it was just all relative. Maybe she did feel safer than normal, for some reason. Maybe she felt safer than she thought she’d ever feel again. Or maybe she was just feeling the effects of some odd sensory reaction, as she listened to the fire and the tinkering coming from Yang and her metal arm on the couch across the room. 

Turning, Neo started to watch Yang as she worked. The arm was shinier than before, and Neo figured Yang must have gotten around to polishing it. It was silver— really silver, now— and while it didn’t necessarily fit with Neo’s mental image of Yang’s style, it did still look pretty clean. Some of the black metal fibers were still visible, but Yang had been working on new platings that covered more of the arm. They also made the elbow look sharper, like it had more of an edge. And there was one part on the exterior that wasn’t that same silver as the rest. Standing out from the rest of the simple color palette was where Yang had worked her old gauntlet into the arm. Now that it was fully built into it, it seemed to fit perfectly. Not to mention Yang must’ve polished that, too. The yellow outside of the gauntlet seemed to glow in the firelight.  _ That  _ certainly fit better with Neo’s image of Yang’s style.

It was after a little while longer that Neo finally realized she was staring— and only because Yang noticed, too.

“Do you… need something?” Yang said, looking back at her. 

There was a faint flare of impatience in her voice, but it wasn’t anywhere near the level it was before. That was progress, at least.

_ “No,”  _ Neo said, after a moment.

Yang blew some air and shook her head.

“Okay…”

Of course, Neo hadn’t stopped staring. After another few seconds, she leaned forward, snapping to get Yang’s attention.

_ “What are you doing?”  _ She gestured to the arm.  _ “What are you changing, I mean.” _

Yang glanced down at her metal arm, still attached to her shoulder, then back up at the woman across the room from her. Some of the plates of the forearm were opened, exposing the core of the arm. An array of tools her beside her, and she’d been using each of them on the inside of the core for a while now.

“Oh, yeah,” she responded eventually. “I think I’ve found a way to overclock the power source. It might help with the fluidity of movement.”

There was a pause, and she sighed.

“And the speed,” she added. “Maybe.”

Part of Neo wanted to say something. But she wasn’t exactly sure of  _ what  _ she wanted to say, so she just turned back to the fireplace and watched the flicking tongues of flames. She could tell that Yang was staring at her, now, but she ignored her. Eventually, she dropped her gaze and went back to working on her arm. The soft ambiance of the room took over again, for a little while. It was nice, while it lasted. Neo had grown pretty used to the quiet, over the years. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice. Quiet was her life. If she hadn’t gotten acclimated, she’d have gone crazy. Or maybe she had gone a little crazy. Whatever. She pushed the thought away.

But then Yang looked up, lowering her screwdriver and bringing some more noise to the quiet. 

“You know,” Yang said, furrowing her brow like she was thinking. “I think I just realized why your fighting style is so familiar.”

Neo felt herself growing very still, suddenly.

_ Shit. _

_ “Oh, yeah?”  _ She responded, after a moment.

“Yeah,” Yang nodded, and a few agonizing seconds passed before she continued.

Neo did her best to hide her face as subtly as she could. Shutting her eyes, she took in a deep breath and brace herself for the worst.

“Yeah, you remind me of this girl I fought.”

When Yang didn’t continue, Neo slowly looked over at her. She was staring out the window, still visibly thinking. Eventually, Yang started to go on.

“She was short, like you,” she said. Then rose an eyebrow. “Pretty much exactly your height, actually.”

Neo clenched her teeth, tight.

Finally, Yang took in a breath and shrugged.

“Funny,” she went on. “Yeah, she fought a lot like you. The same kind of movement, evasion and countering.”

Neo bit her tongue.

_ “Where… did you meet this girl?” _

“Well, I wouldn’t say I met her,” Yang half chuckled, although there was something sort of sad about the laugh. “I saw her once when me and my team were out on the town. Then I saw her again on the train before the Breach.”

_ “Oh?”  _ Neo tried her best to play dumb. Of course, she considered herself a pretty good liar. Still, she had to be very careful with how she answered.

“Yeah, we fought there,” Yang said, still not seeming to notice Neo’s tension. “Kinda got my ass kicked. Made me feel…”

She sighed.

“Made me feel pretty helpless,” she said, nodding. “Nearly killed me. Would have, if my mom hadn’t saved me.”

What?

_ “You’re… mom?” _

In an instant, regret flooded Yang’s face. It looked as though she hadn’t even realized she mentioned her mother out loud. She was flushed red and flustered within seconds.

“Oh, uh…” She said, her voice slightly shaky as she struggled not to trip over her words. “Yeah, my… uh, my mom…”

_ That was Yang’s mother?  _ Neo thought. 

That was certainly not something she’d expected. She didn’t know much about the woman who saved Yang on the train, but she knew enough to know how dangerous she was. Not that she couldn’t tell that just by looking at her, but still. Cinder had never referred to her by her name, so Neo didn’t know it, but… She knew she was bad news. It was starting to make a whole lot more sense, about why Yang never talked about her mom.

Slowly, as if she could see that Neo wasn’t going to ask any more, the red faded from Yang’s cheeks. Exhaling heavily, she went back to her story.

“Yeah… Then Ruby had a run-in with her,” she said, her voice steadying as she spoke. “Little psycho tried to murder my little sister.”

She shook her head.

Gradually, Neo willed herself to speak.

_ “This… girl,”  _ she signed.  _ “Do you know her name?” _

Yang shrugged.

“I… It was like…” She looked down, thinking. “Nia? Noi? I don’t know, I never really caught it.”  
Neo nodded.

_ “And do you…”  _ She paused, thinking out her words.  _ “Do you want payback? For nearly killing you? And your sister?” _

Yang sighed.

“Honestly…” She went silent for a few seconds. “I don’t think so. I mean, I guess I do, but… I think I’d rather just… never see her again. If I saw her, I…”

She trailed off.

_ “You…?” _

“I don’t know that I’d be able to control myself. I don’t think I’d be able to hold back.”

_ “Would you… try to kill her?” _

It took Yang a while to answer that.

“I might,” she said. Then she sighed. “But really, I don’t think that’s why I’m afraid of seeing her.”

Pausing once more, she looked away towards the window again. Breathing in heavily through her nose, Neo could feel from across the room the way everything in her seemed to drop and sag.

“I… I think I would…” She started, then interrupted herself. “And I don’t mean I would plan on doing it, or do it consciously, or even mean to do it, but…”

One last time, she let the quiet return as she thought over her words.

“I think all I’d do is make her kill me.”

Now the quiet felt more like silence, somehow.

_ Oh,  _ Neo thought to herself.

Looking over at Yang, she watched the way she stared out the window at the cold, lifeless world outside. For a moment, Neo thought Yang must’ve felt she was staring at a mirror. Then she wondered whether Yang was the only one, staring at a mirror. But she brushed that thought off. Gradually, Yang seemed to come back to the real world. Looking at her arm again, she kept doing her fixes and upgrades, until she was done for the night. She wasn’t finished yet, but she would be soon. What she did seem finished with, to Neo, was speaking. Fine. The quiet would just have to make its return. Neo could keep on dealing with the quiet, for a while longer.

_ Good to know. _

 

— — — 

 

The room was bright, for somewhere so cold. 

Blank, white walls rose from floor to ceiling, their expressionless faces staring inward towards the center. The shadows of simplistic, undetailed furniture provided the only sort of break from the monotony. The lights were all off, but the room was still illuminated by the shimmering sun outside. It shone through the windows onto the pale walls almost like mirrors, reflecting all across the room. Looking at the walls might make you think you were staring into a lightbulb, colorless and almost glowing. Only the doorways, shut and sealed tight, seemed not to sear with light like the rest of the walls around it. The closet seemed slightly brighter than the entryway door, but at least it wasn’t quite as the rest of the room. 

But for all the light, the sun did nothing the warm the room. At such an altitude the cold air seemed immune to warmth, seeping slowly through any cracks in the walls or flaws in the foundations. The sunlight came through the window like a flashlight through ice. Cold and numbed, as though warmth had abandoned the very sun itself. Inside, the room was protected only by the insulation of the mansion, and the faint heat that grew from the floors below. It slowly rose up to the room, faint and weak, just on the brink of fading entirely before finally reaching the doorway. If it weren’t for that, the room would have felt vacant of warmth virtually entirely. Perhaps it wouldn’t quite have been freezing, but it at the very least would have felt icy. It already did, too an extent. Goosebumps would grow along the skin of anyone who came inside— much less the thin, short young woman who already sat within it.

Eyes shut, breathing slow, Weiss knelt in the center of her room in silence. Focused, her hands came together right in front of her stomach. The tips of her fingers met and pressed together gently, while her palms remained separate and apart. Pointed up to her neck were her thumbs, and the rest of her fingers were aimed down at her lap. The soft, ice blues of her dress stuck out as very nearly the only color in the entire room— save of course for her red cheeks and pale skin. Inhaling heavily, she held herself for a few moments. Keeping her chest full, she let the warmth of her breath slowly fade across her body before slowly letting it out, exhaling gently but audibly. Twitching slightly, she saw a glimpse of the bright white of her room. One of her eyes had opened, briefly. Focusing again, she tried her best to forget it and lose herself completely. 

But it was really just too bright.

Groaning impatiently, she climbed to her feet and briskly walked over to the windows. Taking hold of the blinds, she stared out across the city for a few moments. Atlas was expansive and vertical. Still, she was higher up than most. The Schnee mansion stood all by its lonesome on the top of a tall hill, a couple of miles north of the Atlas downtown. In such a spot, few buildings rose higher than where she rested now, even if they were taller. Watching idly, she was a tad too far to make out most smaller details but just close enough to see some of the signs of life. There were cars driving along through the streets, rushing along in their just-below-the-speed-limit hurry. Some aircrafts were flying over the city, towards the airbase. There was a group of birds perched atop a building that flew away and dispersed when one of the planes startled them.

Sighing, Weiss tore her attention away and yanked the blinds shut. The room had to be as dark as she could make it. It was already as cold as she’d been willing to make it. Walking back to the center of the room, she took a deep breath and dropped down to her knees again. She needed to escape all distractions. Light would only make it hard to focus. And she couldn’t relax, either. She needed intent focus, not sleep— warmth and comfort would just make this harder. 

“Focus…” she whispered to herself.

Putting her fingers together again, she inhaled slowly and shut her eyes. Once more, she held herself there in silence for a while. Keeping her lips together, she gently forced the breath out through her nostrils. Hot air blew down softly, brushing across her chest and drifting off into the cold of the room. Still, she felt nothing else. 

_ Focus,  _ she heard the voice in her head hiss.

“I’m trying…” she muttered to the voice. 

Gritting her teeth, she tried again. Deep inhale, deep exhale. Again and again, she tried. Every time she breathed, she took as much care as she could to not become distracted by the frustration that was building inside her. And she could feel it. It was growing, welling up inside her gut and slowly rising into her chest. Soon enough, she’d feel it in her through. Like vomit, it would make her gag and it would all come spewing forth and explode across the room. Only rather than throwing up, it would make her scream. It would make her scream as loud as she could. So she paid it no mind, trying her best to push it back down and force it into her stomach again. 

_ You’re not focusing.  _

“I said I’m trying…”

It was true, though. As much as she tried to make it go away, the frustration was still there. And she was thinking about it. Even if she was thinking about making it go away, she was still devoting thought to it. And as long as she was thinking about it, she wasn’t focusing. As long as it was taking up her attention, it was distracting her.

_ Focus! _

“I’m trying!” She shouted.

She opened her eyes. The icy blues of her eyes seemed almost to glow a deep sapphire in the dark of the colorless room. Readjusting herself, she leaned forward and then settled back down. Another deep breath. 

“Focus…” She whispered.

Another voice could be heard in her head. This time the speaker was different than the last. It whispered to her delicately.

_ Don’t think about it.  _ The voice was soft, almost soothing.  _ Don’t  _ try  _ to focus. Just lose yourself. Let everything fade away. All that matters is what’s right in front of you. _

Gently, she gave her head a small node. Her eyes shut again, and she let herself go. Taking another breath, this time she didn’t think about holding it. Feeling it inside her, she just focused on the air. Letting everything else go, she directed her every thought to the warm, heavy breath inside her chest. Soon she didn’t have to try to direct her thoughts. They just went. Eventually, she didn’t think at all. The black world behind her eyelids began to glow, turning to a pale white, ice-cold flame. It took over, pushing away everything else and making the world around her vanish. Before long, she felt those cool wisps of light. The same lights that waved and undulated gently, slowly caressing every inch of her body. They reached out to her, and she accepted them. She felt the essence of their life meeting the essence of hers, and she let them intertwine. 

They were the same tendrils of cool light that she felt when she focused on a glyph, only she felt them everywhere now. They were farm more consuming, overwhelming. She had already practiced and learned how to summon, after the incident at the party. Those same wisps could be felt then, as well, but still weaker than now. Right now, they were everything. They were all there was, and everything else was nothing. They became every inch of her world, they became one with every fiber of herself, and they were all that mattered.

As she let them take over, she could feel it growing in front of her. Faint whispers, quiet words, silent mutters rising from the floor around her. Keeping her eyes shut, she could feel as they condensed and grew together, building into something new entirely just a few feet before her. 

It was close. So close.  _ She  _ was close.

Then one of the whispers reached out to her. It spoke behind her, into her ear. It was cold, lifeless, empty— and it made the hairs on her neck rise immediately.

_ Do you feel them?  _ It asked.  _ They feel you… _

In an instant, her eyes shot open. Just long enough for her to catch a glimpse, the pale rings spun around on the floor before her. 

Just then, an aircraft ripped by directly overhead. 

The noise made her jump, and she fell backward. Barely catching herself with a hand behind her, she put her other hand to her chest. The quickening of her breath had grown to a head before she’d even noticed it, and she forced herself to slowly bring it back down to normal. As the surprise faded she felt her body calming down, her pulse and heartbeat gradually slowing. At the same time, she allowed her mind to calm as well. Finally, she turned her gaze down to the floor in front of her once more. The pale, unfamiliar rings were gone. There was no sign they’d ever been there, to begin with. But she’d seen them. Like no glyph she’d ever seen before, they had been there. 

That whisper…

She had no idea where it came from. And she didn’t want to hear it again. She was sure it would be back if she tried again. She was sure it would stop her if she made another attempt. It almost felt pointless to keep going. As though she would never succeed, because that whisper would always be there. Its invisible eyes would always be staring at her, watching her carefully and closely. She couldn’t resist the urge to glance behind herself, at the feeling that someone was watching her right now. But nothing was there. Nothing but the faint light peeking through the gaps of the window drapes.

After a while, she sat forward. Staring down at the floor, she thought. Just thought, trying to work through it all in her head. Eventually, she let out a deep breath.

She would have to try again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took way longer than I meant it too. I think this is probably the longest gap there's been yet, but I'm not sure. I really wanted to post this sooner, but I just got completely distracted for a while. Hopefully, it was at least somewhat worth the wait.


	14. Get Mad

**XIV**

**_Get Mad_ **

— — —  

_ “Patience only gets you so far _

_ Blood will get you further” _

_ — — —  _

The pounds of fists against padding bellowed around the room, joined only by soft breathing and the occasional grunt. Every hit was followed by another one just a short moment right after, though the pause was more noticeable every few hits. The sequence was simple— left, right, leg, left. The first two, though, going from left to right— that was the problem child. That was the one that sounded staggered, to large of a gap. An opening, a moment of vulnerability, if she’d been fighting Polly. Or any other competent opponent, for that matter. But she didn’t face a wealth of those these days. Just the one. Well, two, actually. If she was allowed to count herself. And she would have, if only the thought had occurred to her. The worst of it all had seemed to pass, but it was still hard to get up most mornings. Across the past month or so, she’d managed to climb back up from rock bottom. But just because you’re above rock bottom, doesn’t mean you’re very far from it. Down at the bottom, things weren’t very secure. You don’t climb out on a ladder, you climb out on the crumbling bricks and maybe a vine, if you’re lucky. All it would take is one misstep— one brick giving way— and there was nothing to catch her.

Rock, welcome back to bottom.

Sweat collected on her brow. She took a moment to wipe it away, before getting back to it. As close to the bottom as she felt, at least she knew she wasn’t quite there anymore. Even if one slip up would send her all the way back down, she wasn’t going to let that fall happen. No, she was determined not to meet the base of the well again. It didn’t matter how much she struggled to believe she  _ could  _ do it. Right now,  _ could  _ and  _ couldn’t  _ didn’t matter. It wasn’t a very friendly cistern, down at the bottom of the well. Trying to stay out of it was just about the only thing keeping her moving at this point. And she had to keep moving. No way was she going back to that shithole.

So there she was, in the garage, pounding away relentlessly at a punching bag. It had been stowed in the basement but Polly dragged it, along with Yang’s old kickboxing gear, upstairs for her. Anytime Yang was awake she would have to be training, even when she wasn’t with Polly. That’s what Polly had said, anyway. In reality, Yang spent a lot of her waking hours working on her arm. It felt so—  _ so—  _ close. Just a few tweaks away from being perfect. It had a new shoulder plate, that came down to about halfway down the mechanical bicep. Just about all of the internals had been covered up by this point, making the exterior a harsh silver and gray contrast. She’d changed the balance, overclocked it more than once, and refined the power source to the best she figured she’d be able to get without any more advanced tools or parts available. She even made a point of keeping it polished and clean. But still, it felt… off. Something just wasn’t quite right. It was as though something was missing. Something important. Something she could  _ feel. _

It was definitely being felt, right now.

The punching bag shook as she let out a cry and slammed into it for the last time, this time forgoing any technique. It swung right back into her, forcing her to catch it. Pressing her head against it, she grit her teeth. She was struggling to keep from screaming into the leather face of the bag. And she may just have, if she didn’t hear a tapping on the door behind her. 

After sparing a moment to at least slightly compose herself, she took her head away from the punching bag.

“It’s open,” she called.

Behind her, the door creaked open.

“Yang?” Her dad’s voice came through softly.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him stepping inside the garage and pushing the door behind him. There was a small box beneath his arm, about the size of a lunchbox. It was wrapped in a subtle yellow tissue paper. 

“Hey, dad,” she said, turning away from the punching bag. The cold water bottle on the floor nearby beckoned to her, and she downed it in one swig.

“How’s it going?” He nodded to the punching bag. “Training hard?”

The sweat on her forehead was hot, and it stuck to the practice glove on her left hand when she tried to wipe it away. Sighing, she half nodded.

“Guess so,” she said, tossing the empty bottle to the floor. “Just practicing basics, really.”

“Do you need a hand?” His smile faltered the moment he finished saying it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

Yang shook her head.

“Dad, it’s fine,” she said. “Really. Make jokes about it. I’m not gonna get used to it if I act like it’s not there.”

She paused.

“Or, like it is there, I guess,” she corrected.

He sighed, nodding.

“Yeah, I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m just… I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Taking a deep breath, she shrugged.

“I’m getting there.”

“Well,” he said. “I do want to help. If there’s anything I can do for you, just say the word.”

“I think I’m okay. Thanks, though.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I… I just need to keep trying. Repetition is key, and all that. Like you taught me.”

“Yeah, I guess I did,” he smiled.

There was a silence, soon. It was a comfortable one, though. A relaxing one. It was calming, for Yang. Just listening to the slowly steadying sound of her own breath. 

“Do you think you’re making progress?” Taiyang cut into the quiet, after an appropriate time.

That was one thing about Polly. There was no appropriate time. Silence was a constant, when you talked to her. But she never let it be a comfortable one. Even when a conversation— or an argument, more likely— came to an end, she would find a way to interrupt the few moments of rest that Yang would have happily welcomed. 

Well, there was more than one thing about Polly, actually. But this was just one that had occurred to her right now.

“Honestly, I…” Her voice trailed for a few seconds. “I don’t know. I just can’t quite… get it right. There’s something that just feels off.”

She raised her metal arm, turning it as she looked at it.

“Everything about it should be right. It should feel right, I’ve spent so much time making sure of that. But something just feels… missing.”

Listening, Taiyang slowly started to nod. Pondering it for a moment, he eventually lifted the box from beneath his arm and held it in front of himself.

“Something might be missing,” he said. “But it just might not be what you think it is.”

Yang raised an eyebrow.

“What’s that mean?”

“I just mean,” he paused, turning his eyes up to the ceiling like he was thinking. “It might not be something  _ in  _ the arm _.” _

“Oh,” Yang resisted rolling her eyes. “Yeah, right. Polly was saying that too.”

“She might have a point.”

“She doesn’t,” Yang shook her head. “She doesn’t know what this feels like. And frankly? Neither do you. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be an ass, but it’s true. None of you have ever lost a limb, let alone built a new arm for yourself.”

“Yang…”

“It’s my body. My arm. I know what I feel. And I feel like the arm isn’t right.”

“Except it’s not  _ just  _ yours.”

“What?” Yang looked incredulous.

“It’s not just that it’s _yours,_ I mean,” he said, taking a step forward. “It’s that it’s _you_.”

Yang stared at him, mouth open.

“What the  _ fuck  _ does that mean?” She said.

“It means,” he said, his voice staying calm and soft. “You’ve accepted that the arm is yours, but you haven’t accepted that it’s more than just something that belongs to you.”

Yang did roll her eyes.

“Oh god, you really do sound like Polly.”

Taiying stayed quiet for a moment.

“Yang, you said it yourself,” he said after a few seconds. “You lost a part of you. So you have to start treating the replacement like it’s a part of you, too.”

“And how do you know that I’m not already doing that?”

“Because if you were,” he took another step forward and looked at the punching bag. “Then you wouldn’t just be practicing basics.”

Yang looked away, opening her mouth. Then she closed it. Then she opened it again, and then she closed it again. She looked at him, then back at the wall again. 

“You know, Polly actually agrees with you,” he said.

She looked back at him questioningly.

“She seems to think that something’s missing from the arm, too,” he said as he held the box forward.

Only now did it seem like she even noticed it.

“What’s this?”

“Take it,” he said, pushing it towards her. “She asked me to buy it, last time I went to the store. Said she found old ones in the shed, but all of them were dried up and couldn’t be used.”

Glancing up at him then back to the mystery gift, she still didn’t reach for it.

“What did she ask you to buy?”

“Just open it,” he repeated. “Honestly, I might’ve paid for it but it’s her present to you. Pretty sincere. She even wrapped it.”

This time she looked at him without looking back down.

_ “Polly  _ wrapped it?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “But she told me not to tell you that. She said she thought you’d take it better from me, but I… disagree.”

Lowering her gaze, Yang finally took the box from her dad. Raising her left hand, she started to pull on the tissue paper. Before she continued, she paused and looked up again, eyebrow cocked.

“Since when do you speak sign language?”

Taiyang chuckled at that.

“I don’t,” he said. “Well, I’ve been picking up a little here and there, but she didn’t ask me any of this in person. It was all in notes she left.”

Eventually, Yang dropped her eyes back down to the present. Gently, she tore the paper away and off the box. Beneath it was a simple, plain cardboard box. Inside that was another layer of packaging, a sealed silver plastic bag. Rolling her eyes, she couldn’t help but smile slightly at Polly’s simplistic and rudimentary wrapping style. Still, like Ember Celica… Yang appreciated the thought. The corners of the plastic bag peeled apart, and when it was open she turned it over inside the box. Tumbling out came a set of cylindrical spray-paint cans. Two yellow, two black. Yang just stared at them, for a bit. There was a small, barely noticeable upturn, on her lips.

“I thought you’d like them,” Taiyang said, flashing a smile of his own. “She asked me to give you this, as well.”

Pulling something from his back pocket, he pulled out a flat piece of thin but sturdy plastic. It was one of her old decals, the flaming heart symbol she used so often. 

“Polly thought the arm was missing a bit of, well…” He shrugged. “You.”

She looked up at him.

“You have good friends, Yang.”

She opened her mouth, but didn’t say anything for a while.

“Yeah, I…” She paused, still smiling subtly. “I guess so.”

But it didn’t last, of course. The smile faded, eventually, leaving Yang with a blank, still expression. 

“Do you want some help with painting it?” Taiyang kept an earnest look on his face, but it was obvious that he noticed the way her face had changed. “I’d love to work on it with you, if you want.”

“No, I…” She looked down, then let everything fall back into the box. “I think I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, then dropped the box to the floor and pushed it aside with her foot. “Yeah, I’ll deal with it later.”

Yang didn’t notice the way Taiyang’s smile faltered. There was just a faint drop in his expression, but he hid it quickly enough that she never caught it.

“You don’t want to paint it now?”

“No, I’d rather just… do it some other time.”

By this point, she wasn’t even facing his direction anymore. The punching bag swung gently in the air in front of her, while she stared at the floor. She put her hand up to it, steadying it, and then glanced over her shoulder at her dad one more time.

“I should get back to training,” she said emptily.

“I… Alright, if you think so.”

She waited for him to leave, before raising her stance. The punching bag seemed to stare at her while she thought, eyes still turned down. It took a while for her to start moving again. But she willed herself to begin. It didn’t feel good, but she needed to feel something. It was the only thing she had. The blood started pumping, and warmth started to come back.

_ Good friends…  _

The words repeated in her head, a few times over.

_ Yeah, sure. Right. _

The climb from the bottom wasn’t really feeling any easier, at the moment.

 

— — — 

 

The kitchen floor was cold against the soles of Neo’s feet. Still, she stood on top of it without moving— nearly statuesque— only shifting every now and again to take a bite of her food. The cold didn’t bother her so much anyway. After all, she was standing there as she ate a bowl of strawberry sorbet. Naturally. It wasn’t ice cream, but it would do. She wasn’t even really thinking about it, at this point. Instead, her attention was directed in front of her, straight through the kitchen window into the dry, chilled field outside. Even the sky looked like it was glowing from some sort of parched, lifeless light source. The only hint of moisture outside, for what seemed like miles, was the sweat that dripped from the woman with whom Neo was directing her focus. Even then, Neo couldn’t help but think that the sweat was rolling slower, like it was somehow already starting to freeze.

Yang had been out there for most of the day, which was good. Right now, she was beating into a tree like a punching bag. Neo couldn’t help but notice the way that some of Yang’s muscle mass had started to build back up. They weren’t back completely, but at least she didn’t look like she hadn’t eaten since last Spring. As difficult as the blonde was making it for Neo, it still seemed like she was making progress. Slow, incremental, nearly invisible progress, but progress nonetheless. 

Then again, Neo wasn’t exactly one to be satisfied by  _ just  _ progress.

The most frustrating part, so far,  was the fact that Neo couldn’t exactly figure out  _ why  _ the progress was so slow. Yang had everything she needed. Training equipment, a new arm made from state of the art tech, a goal, a free source of food from her dad, and even her willpower was starting to come back. To a degree. And yet, Yang still looked like she couldn’t get used to her new limb. The other things they could handle— they could work on her strength, on her conditioning, on her instinct— those things could come back. Even the things that Yang struggled with before losing her arm, Neo could help get into form. But no matter what she tried, Yang still seemed off. Every plan she made just didn’t work. Any time Neo felt like she was making a breakthrough, Yang would struggle to make it work all the same. But like Neo said— she had everything she needed. The physical barriers were all but gone. So what was the problem?

The idea that it could be mental never really occurred to her. 

“Hey,” a voice came from behind.

She glanced back briefly at Taiyang, then looked straight out at Yang again. It took a little while, but Neo was starting to finally feel like she wouldn’t need to worry about Yang’s dad. Obviously neither of them knew who she really was, and he seemed like he was really beginning to trust “Polly.” Keeping up the disguise was getting a bit tiring, but she could put up with it. She would have to, if Yang was going to continue working with her. So keeping it up around her dad as well didn’t really seem like a big deal. 

“How’s she doing?”

Neo didn’t really have an answer for that. Not because she wasn’t sure, or she didn’t know, but because she didn’t really know how to go about speaking to someone who didn’t speak signs. Taiyang seemed to realize that as well, though, because he kept talking without waiting for a response.

“Just wanted to let you know, I gave her the paint.”

She heard him half-chuckle behind her.

“It was a good idea,” he said. “I gotta say, I can’t believe I didn’t think of it first.”

Neo glanced at him again and nodded, then back to Yang. As good as the idea had been, it obviously wasn’t  _ that  _ good. The glint of silver metal could still be seen beneath the colorless sun. The only sliver of yellow was still the strip around the wrist where Ember Celica was stored. Taiyang seemed to pick up on that, too.

“I think she’ll come around on the idea, too,” he continued. “She seemed like she was really into it, at first. Then she just… dropped. I don’t know. Maybe it was something I said.”

It was only for a second, but Neo felt something she was pretty sure she’d ever felt before. This strange desire, to… she didn’t really know. Say something? Not just to speak, though— she’d had that desire before— but to say something… helpful? Kind? She wasn’t sure. It was a strange sensation, like something was wrong. Like… not like she needed to say something, but… like somebody  _ else  _ needed her to say something. It was strange. And uncomfortable. It made her wish Tai hadn’t said what he’d said last. And she was glad when the feeling passed. Add it to the list of weird things Neo had never felt until recently.

“Well… I don’t know. Like I said, I think she’ll come around. She just needs some more time.”

Neo just nodded. The sorbet was starting to melt. She finished it off and brought it over to the dishwasher. While she was putting it in, though, she noticed something. It was small, just a faint slip of white. But it poked out slightly from the crack between the counter and the refrigerator. Carefully, she reached over and slid it out from between. When it finally gave, a magnet rolled out behind it and clattered onto the ground. The slip must have fallen partway down the side of the fridge, taking the magnet with it. One side was plain, empty white. On the other side, though, there was a picture. One from Beacon, it seemed like. But Neo didn’t recognize it. It must have been from before she joined up with Cinder there.

In the picture there were four people, all of whom were dressed up in nice party dresses. Amusingly, at least to Neo, one of them was a guy. And she recognized most of the people in the picture. On the far right was the guy, with short and scraggly blonde hair. She hadn’t bothered to remember his name, but she had definitely seen him around with Yang’s friends before. And right next to him was a gorgeous young scarlet-haired woman, with eyes nearly the same shade as Neo’s disguised ones. She definitely remembered her. Her name was Pyrrha, and she had been important to Cinder’s plan. There had only been one or two times she remembered even interacting with her, but she remembered her. As pretty as she was, Neo knew she was dangerous. Neo could tell how skilled of a fighter she was, just by the way she moved. She could also tell that she harbored a ridiculously obvious crush on the boy beside her. For… some reason.

Right next to her was one of Yang’s teammates. Blake, she was pretty sure her name was. A Faunus who pretended to be human. Neo wasn’t sure how many people were supposed to know about that, but it was pretty easy to figure out. And her relationship with Yang had been… strange. Neo didn’t feel threatened by her, but sometimes she did get the sense that maybe she was treading on someone else’s “territory.” Maybe it was just because she was a cat Faunus or something. They worked like that, right? Maybe not. Maybe it was a bit deeper than that. Neo wasn’t sure. Not that it particularly bothered her either way. 

And of course, on the far left of the picture, with her arm over Blake’s shoulder, was Yang. Smiling wide, she had her free hand up in a peace sign. Normally she wasn’t much interested in girl’s wearing dresses or anything of that type, but Neo had to admit that Yang looked rather pretty in hers. Of course, Yang always looked pretty. That was really the only reason that Neo had become interested in her in the first place. Well, that and the fact that Neo was curious about being crushed on by a girl that she’d previously tried to kill. But Yang didn’t know anything about that.

Regardless, the rest of the picture was rather simple. Some nondescript party was happening in the background. It looked like she might be able to make out some other familiar faces off in the back of the picture, but they didn’t matter much. The only other thing was written across the corner of the picture in bright red sharpie marker. It read “Dance Queens,” with a heart in place of the A.

At some point, she’d forgotten that Taiyang was even still in the room.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, smiling. “That was from the dance that Yang and her friend Weiss helped plan. I guess that was before all of the exchange students had finished arriving?”

She half nodded. In truth, she had no idea. It never particularly mattered to her, since Cinder was always handling the more technical side of things. Neo had one job— kill the people she was told to kill. And she was there for one reason.

“Yeah, they had a really great time, I think,” he said. Then he looked out the window at Yang and his smile shrank slightly. “Simpler times, I guess…”

Eventually he looked back down at her again, although she had to clear her throat to get his attention. By the time he was looking at her, she was pointing at someone in the picture. The boy, first.

“Oh, that’s Jaune,” he said. “You two never met?”

She shrugged.

“Well, he’s just one of her friends. Leader of his team. Decent kid, if a bit awkward.”

She nodded, then pointed to Pyrrha beside him.

“That’s… that’s Pyrrha, Pyrrha Nikos. Kind of a famous fighter, basically a prodigy.”

_ I could take her,  _ Neo thought to herself.

“She was a member of Jaune’s team. She…” His voice trailed off. “She died, at the Fall of Beacon.”

_ Oh. Right. _

Neo somehow never found out about that. 

Eventually, she shifted her finger to the last person that wasn’t Yang. Taiyang took a second, but he straightened himself out and answered her.

“Blake, Yang’s partner,” he said. “I’m sure you two met at some point.”

She half nodded. Then, after a few seconds passed, she looked up with a raised eyebrow.

_ Where… was she?  _ It was a thought that had never occurred to her. Yang had pointed out that she’d been abandoned by her friends, but… why? Where had they gone? What happened to Blake? Yang lost her arm, and Blake wasn’t there for her. She knew that the two of them had been fighting, recently… about herself, she guessed. But still, Neo doubted she could’ve gotten in between them so much that Blake would leave Yang practically to die like that. Could she? 

…Maybe Yang had cared about Neo more than she’d realized.

Taiyang must have noticed her questioning look. Or maybe he didn’t, and he just went on anyway.

“She and Yang, were…” He paused. “Close. I don’t know exactly what happened, but… Yang lost her arm when she was trying to… protect Blake. And then Blake just up and vanished. No one knows where she is now.”

Then he sighed.

“Hell, you probably know all that, by now. I’m sure Yang’s told you already.”

_ You’d be surprised,  _ she thought.

Instead she just shrugged again.

“I think… I think that’s what’s hurting her the most.”

She glanced up at him.

“She really needs someone,” he said. “She’s always needed someone. She’s only ever had me and Ruby, really.”

Slowly, Neo turned her eyes to the window, back to Yang.

“She finally had a group of people, and now…”

Outside, Yang threw a punch at the tree with her metal arm. The wood splintered partially, and her arm got stuck between the bark and branches.

“Now they’re gone,” he said. “I think she’s just convinced it’s only a matter of time before someone leaves her, at this point. She has too much of a history with that to not think that way.”

Neo nodded slightly.

“Even if she’s back up on her feet, working, I…”

He sounded like he didn’t want to keep talking. Like what he was saying was wrong, that he shouldn’t be thinking it at all. Even still, he went on.

“I don’t know if she’ll ever get back into full form, so long as she’s afraid of that. Of the abandonment. I think… whether she realizes it or not, she’s afraid of recovering.”

Neo watched as Yang put her foot up against the tree, trying to force her arm free. It looked like it was stuck tight, barely even budging.

“I think she’s afraid of going through all this again. I think she’s afraid of… being hurt like this. All over again.”

Finally, Yang could be heard shouting faintly. She pushed off with her leg and fired off the gauntlet in her arm, breaking her free and propelling her backward. She stumbled back, falling straight down and onto her rear. When she landed, she didn’t move for a while. Instead, she just stared blankly at the ground.

“But at least she has you, now,” he said. “She still has someone who came back. Just…”

Neo looked back at him for a second.

“Please… don’t leave her.”

There was a degree of pleading, in his voice. She looked at the floor, then gradually turned back to watching Yang. She was still sitting in the grass.

“I don’t think she can take that, again.”

Neo didn’t respond. She just stared at Yang. Then a faint smile began to creep onto her face. Not even a smile, really, just a slight upturn of the lips. Not quite her trademark smirk, but close.

_ Yeah, I think I can use this. _

 

— — — 

 

“You know, I think you might even be more stubborn than me.”

Yang was on her butt in the dirt, again. Or, rather, it was in the mud, this time. It had started to rain over the past couple of days. Freezing rain, often erring on the side of hailing. At least it hadn’t started snowing again. Yang wasn’t sure she could really stand being snowed in all over again, after the last time. It was better, when she could force herself to at least get outside. Still, the rain was coming down nearly constantly. It wasn’t too heavy, at the moment, but it hadn’t stopped. Every now and again a particularly icy drop would hit Yang from above and make her jump. She’d thought she would have been used to it by now, but not quite. It was always  _ just  _ enough to give Polly an immediate opening. And when Polly got an opening, well— Yang wasn’t sitting in the mud for no reason.

_ “I said get up,”  _ Polly signed back.

“I know what you said,” Yang said. “Repeating it doesn’t make me want to do it.”

_ “I didn’t ask what you wanted to do.” _

“Yeah, well, I didn’t ask what you wanted either, so. Shove it.”

Polly rolled her eyes and trotted over to Yang. When she was just beside her, looking down over her, she stopped.

_ “Up,”  _ she signed.

Yang didn’t answer. She just chuckled sardonically and looked away.

_ “That was your last chance.” _

“What—” Yang spoke as she turned, but was suddenly cut off as she received a swift kick in the thigh from the Polly.

The kick was hard. It wasn’t a light shove, or a forceful nudge. It was a full-on leg extending kick with backward wind-up. And it hurt like a  _ bitch. _

“Fuck!” Yang shouted as she gripped her thigh. It stang, and she felt like it was already turning red. “What the hell was that?!”

_ “Learning experience,”  _ Polly said calmly.

“Learning  _ what,  _ exactly?!”

_ “To start remembering your aura, again,”  _ Polly signed, before starting to walk away. Then she looked back and added on,  _ “And to do what I say.” _

With a groan, Yang started to climb to her feet.

“Cunt,” she said.

_ “Are you ready to go again?” _

“No, screw you,” Yang spat. “I’m done for the day, if you’re gonna act like a little bitch.”

_ “Little bitch?”  _ Polly smirked.  _ “Who’s the one whining?” _

“Fuck you.”

_ “Too scared to keep going?” _

Ignoring her, Yang started to turn. She wasn’t interested in putting up with any more of this today. It always went like this. When Yang got tired of Polly’s labors, Polly would just stamp her feet and amp it up a notch to force Yang to keep going. This time was the same, every way around. Yang was just particularly fed up right now, for some reason. 

But of course, as she started walking back to the house, she felt another hard kick. This one was straight into her back, knocking her right down onto her face.

“Fuck!” She growled as she pushed herself up. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Polly just shrugged.

“You have serious fucking issues, you know that?”

_ “Sure,”  _ Polly answered, before kicking Yang again.

“Fucking  _ stop!”  _ Yang was forced onto her side, where she glared up at Polly. “What the fuck is your problem?!”

_ “Right now?”  _ Polly feigned thinking.  _ “You.” _

“Real cute—”

A grunt interrupted her as she took yet another kick, this one right in the gut. Yang was reeling. She rolled onto her front again, putting her silver arm on the ground beside her head to try and prop her up, while gripping her stomach with the other one. It felt like she was gonna be sick.

“Fuck!” She said between coughs. “Stop it!”

_ “Hurts, right? Maybe you should focus on your aura, next time,”  _ Polly taunted at her.

“Fuck off.”

_ “What’s the matter, can’t get up?”  _ Polly mocked crying.  _ “Does baby need help? Do you need me to stop?” _

“Yes! Fuck!” She shouted again. “Stop!”

Polly’s face went deadpan again.

_ “Then make me.” _

Gritting her teeth, Yang just glowered up at her. She was still gripping her stomach, struggling to hold herself off the mud. All of the places where Polly had kicked her were starting to ache. In truth, she probably should have turned on her aura. But then Polly would win, wouldn’t she?

What was that, about her being more stubborn than Yang?

_ “Oh, that’s right…”  _ Polly flashed her pearly whites.  _ “You can’t.” _

Tilting her head, she stared at Yang with a faint smile. Yang turned her attention to the ground, trying to lift herself up off of it. Then Polly made a clicking noise with her teeth, which eventually dragged Yang’s eyes up again.

_ “Just like you couldn’t stop anything else.” _

Yang’s focused and her eyes narrowed. 

“What?”

_ “You heard me,”  _ Polly signed.

The hand on Yang’s gut found its way onto the ground, joining the metal one. 

“I’m not so sure about that.”

Her fingers started to sink into the soil, digging deeper as the tightness of her grip intensified. She was staring up at Polly, and her breath was growing louder with each exhale.

_ “I think you did.” _

There was almost an audible creaking as Yang clenched her jaw. Red started to creep into the corners of her irises.

“Say it again,” she finally mustered to say.

_ “I don’t think I need to.” _

“Say it,” Yang pushed up from the mud slowly as she spoke, keeping her eyes locked on Polly. “Again.”

For a second, Polly simply stared down at her. She tilted her head slightly to one side, her lips flat and expressionless again. There was a coldness in her eyes, as though the green was starting to grow lifeless. It seemed, briefly, like she wasn’t going to say anything at all. Then she canted her head to the other side and moved her hands in a flash.

_ “Why should I?”  _ She said.  _ “You’re already thinking everything I could say, don’t you?” _

Yang’s fingers were working their way even further into the ground. They were nearly all the way down to her knuckles, by this point.

“I wanna hear you say it,” she said through a snarl.

_ “What? What do you want to hear?”  _ The only change in her expression was the slight elevation of her right brow.  _ “How you can’t stop me?” _

Yang didn’t react. She just kept her eyes on Polly. The air vibrated with her anger, as it rose steadily.

_ “Or how you couldn’t stop your sister from leaving you?”  _ Polly continued.  _ “How she left you to go with her other friends, and you couldn’t do anything about it.” _

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” her fingertips found each other beneath the dirt, clamping into fists.

_ “Don’t I?”  _ She didn’t stop.  _ “I’m sure I know plenty. I know you couldn’t stop the man who took your arm. Because you couldn’t, could you?” _

“Shut up,” her eyes widened as her brow lowered.

_ “You asked me for this,”  _ Polly kept going.  _ “Don’t pretend you didn’t. Just like you can’t pretend you didn’t fail to stop so much.” _

“I said shut up!” She was shouting. Heat was starting to overwhelm her. The frozen rain was still falling, but it seemed to melt the moment it touched her skin.

_ “I know you couldn’t stop your friend from dying. Pyrrha, was it?” _

“Shut UP!” Yang pushed herself off the ground.

She was staring at Polly from her knees, her fists at her side. Her eyes were wider than they’d ever been, and the lilac of her irises almost seemed to be shaking. There was a pressure inside her, and it was burning hot.

_ “You can’t stop anything, can you?”  _ Polly leaned forward, locking her gaze with Yang’s until they were practically face to face with each other.

Yang was fuming.  She was on the edge. The  _ very  _ edge. The anger in her was something she hadn’t felt in… a long time. Or, maybe it wasn’t? It felt like something that had been there, trapped, bottled up. Something that she’d never noticed. But now that she was realizing it, it was… rage. Rage that she hadn’t known. Ever. And she was one slight touch away from tumbling over the side. 

A smirk grew on Polly’s face. 

Yang wasn’t aware of it, but something in her was giving her the sense that she was right where her training partner wanted her.

_ “You couldn’t even stop Blake from leaving you.” _

Yang’s eyes flared crimson. Her world was fire. And she was on the edge no more.

She yelled and threw herself from the ground. She could feel the rain turning to steam as it fell near her. Without a thought, her fist flew. And it connected. It found its mark, just under Polly’s chin. It hit hard, and full-force. It sent Polly reeling backwards, but Yang didn’t relent. She moved forward with a swiftness she wasn’t used to, and launched another punch. This one hit Polly in the cheek, sending her spiraling to the side. Still the girl landed on her feet. And yet further, Yang wasn’t going to let up. Another fist came hurtling into the side of her jaw. Yang felt Polly’s aura give. All this time of trying, and all it took was three punches to break through. She could see why Polly took such great care not to get hit. 

Of course, that wasn’t what she was thinking about right now. All she was thinking about was the fact that Polly was still on her feet in front of her. And she was smiling.

_ “Do you feel it?”  _ Polly looked up, spitting a small wad of blood out.

“Shut up!” Yang yelled again.

She kept coming. She swiped forwards, grabbing Polly by the front of her shirt. Pulling her towards her, she let another punch fly and crash into Polly’s face head-on. Even as she held her up and pulled her into the blow, Polly wasn’t dissuaded.

_ “Feel that? The fire?” _

Yang didn’t ask her to shut up this time. No, she just punched her again, letting go of her at the same time. It sent Polly tumbling to the ground, landing on her hip. She raised her hand to her chin, wiping blood off of her lips. There was blood beginning to pool beneath her right eye, as well.

_“Feeling angry, yet?”_ _  
_ “YES!” Yang screamed.

Hurling herself Polly, she fell upon her and pinned her to the ground. With no intentions to stop, another fist came down and collided with the girl beneath her. That one felt like it might’ve broken something.

She raised her fist again. Her eyes were shining scarlet. There was a smokestack of steam billowing from her, in the rain. Licks of heat and sparks showered the earth around her. The inferno inside her was at its peak, and yet it felt like was building still. Everything was nothing, and nothing would stop her. The fist shot downwards, towards Polly’s face yet again. It was growing closer, closer, closer, until—

“YANG!” A shout came from behind her.

It all stopped. All at once, it faded. The heat sank back into her, and her eyes were lilacs once more. All she could do was stare down at the damage she’d done below her.

“Yang, stop!” Taiyang’s voice came again, closer this time. He was just behind her.

But she ignored him. Not what he told her to do, no, because she did stop. But she didn’t turn. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t pay him any attention. The only thing she could look at was Polly. Her face was beaten, and already starting to bruise. Her nose was bent wrong, and there were bright red veins visible in the whites of her eyes. Her hair was matted and muddied behind her head. There was blood dripping from her chin. All in all, she looked basically just as bad as she looked when she first arrived at Yang’s house. Well, except one or two things.

She was grinning.

Slowly, Yang looked down. Down at her the fist that stopped right in front of Polly. It was being held there, stuck in place. Polly’s hand was gripping it tightly, keeping her from pulling it back. It took Yang a few moments to notice the other important detail, though.

It was her metal hand.

_ “Seems pretty balanced to me.” _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're definitely coming along now- starting to get pretty close to some new stuff. Anyway, the same old song and dance: Hope you enjoyed, and feedback always welcomed.


	15. Feet on the Ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is- last chapter before I get back to school. I'd like to say that college won't get too much in the way of posting chapters, but, well... no promises. We'll just have to wait and see how it shakes out. Anyways, feedback and responses are appreciated as always, and enjoy!

**XV**

**_Feet on the Ground_ **

— — —  

_ “ _ _ Okay? I love you. You don’t have to say it back, though.” _

_ — — —  _

Yang leaned back in her seat, keeping her metal armed braced flat against the arm of the chair. The paper beneath it creaked slightly. There was a rattling noise as she shook her left arm, then a soft hissing when she moved it and started spraying the paint can over the armored exterior. The sunlight poured in through the window of the shed, gentle and warm. It was the warmest it had been in a while. Of course, that didn’t make it warm. Not really. Far from it, in fact. Winter would end, but not today. This was just a brief break from the bitter cold outside. And know Yang’s luck, a freak blizzard would blow in and trap her inside tomorrow. But for once, Yang wasn’t thinking about that. 

No, she was focused on the task at hand. The yellow grew along the metal plates of her arm as she sprayed. She was careful to keep the paint even, leaving everything equally vibrant and brightly colored. It shined particularly bright beneath today’s sun. She had to admit, it was… it was right. It looked right. And it felt right. The sunny, lively color of the arm. It matched the yellow of Ember Celica down on her wrist. It matched her. It just fit. And she couldn’t help but smile, a little, at the thought of it. It looked like her dad had been right, after all. Like Polly had been right, as well. It still felt a little awkward for her to admit it, but at least she could acknowledge she was thinking it. After their last training session, from earlier this week— the one that ended in the brutal punching session— she felt like she could look at Polly normally, again. At least, more normally. Which was strange, considering she had beaten her face. Maybe that was part of it though. Maybe she just felt a little bad.

And maybe she also had to admit that Polly had been right then, too.

Because she had been. Not necessarily about the things she said, but what she was trying to get Yang to understand. The arm was right. It had been, all along. But Yang couldn’t see that. Now that she could, though. Now she felt like she could stand up— like she could  _ do  _ something. She still wasn’t the same as she’d been, before. Not emotionally, at least. Or mentally. It was still exhausting, trying to… try. And it was hard to get over the foreboding senses of imminent failure. But she could fight, now. Pretty damn well near as good as she used to be, as well. If nothing else, that felt like it made her strong enough to hold herself off the bottom. Where she would go next? That remained to be seen. But something gave her inkling that she wasn’t going to be staying at home, much longer. It felt like it was just about time to get on her feet again. To start moving forward— without taking two steps back every time. But she guessed that was progress.

Which was why she was sitting hear, in the shed, spray painting her arm yellow. Because this was the first step. This was the first step she’d taken in a long, long,  _ long  _ time, that didn’t make her feel like she was walking on a treadmill. She did wonder what the plan was, though. Obviously, if she was going somewhere, she was going with Polly. Which was a difficult thought, because as much as she was starting to feel like she was finally getting used to the girl, Polly was still… challenging. Very challenging. She was stubborn and cocky. And she was still emotionally distant. Then again, so was Yang. But, well— Yang opened her heart up to Polly once, already, and she had it thrown right back at her. As per usual. 

_ Maybe Polly will be the last time I have to learn my lesson about that,  _ she thought.

Whatever. She pushed the thought away. Those were the things she was trying  _ not  _ to think about. Because those were the things that ruined her attitude. 

With a sigh, Yang dropped the spray paint and relaxed. She was finished with the yellow, and so it would be on to the black next. But the paint still had to dry, because she could cover them in masks. So, for now, she just sat there, watching the clouds go by outside. Her eyes followed one cloud in particular, for a while. It was big and puffy, and it drifted slowly. She wondered where it was going. And where she’d be going, again. Polly wanted revenge on her old team. Or at least on Cinder. And Yang had to admit, she was starting to come around on the idea. Cinder had been the cause of so much pain. So much suffering. So much death. She’d killed Pyrrha, apparently. So that was definitely something to be angry about. But the thing she was really thinking about coming around on was getting revenge on the Faunus who took her arm. If she could pull it off, that would be a moment she’d savor. But then again… he took her arm in one slash.  _ One.  _ She felt like she was getting better, but how much better would be better than  _ one slash _ ? Because that seemed like it would be  _ a lot  _ better. What if she couldn’t pull it off? What if he beat her again? What if he took her arm again? She had Polly with her this time, but… she had Blake last time. And look how much difference that made. Who’s to say Polly wouldn’t just leave her the same way Blake did?

Because Blake left. 

And Yang wasn’t ready for that. She thought she was— she expected everyone to leave, eventually. But then Blake actually did leave, and she saw how woefully unprepared for someone like her leaving she was. At the same time, Polly had been right when she said that she’d been the only one to come back. And why would Polly come back if she intended just to leave again?

_ If she’s using you, she would,  _ Yang’s thoughts answered her.

Well, then that was just it, then, wasn’t it? Blake left Yang last time. That cost her her arm, and it nearly got her killed. Yang wouldn’t make the same mistake again. Not this time. Not after repeating the same screw-ups over and over and over through her life. This time she would be prepared. This time she would expect it. This time it won’t cost her her arm. It won’t get her killed. Because Yang would be ready. She would be ready for Polly to leave.

Even just thinking that thought made her a little cold, inside. The thought of being left again… as much as she tried to mentally prepare for it, thinking about it still made her a little queasy. But then, case and point, right? She had to be ready. Her stomach won’t be doing backflips at these thoughts once she’s ready. And she would be.

Then Yang shook her head.

_ She’s not using you. She’s not leaving you,  _ she thought. _ There’s nothing to be ready for— because she’s. Not. Leaving. _

Then she sighed.

There she goes, making the same mistakes again.

The sound of the door opening pulled her from her thoughts and made her look up. Taiyang was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe.

“So,” he said. “I take it you’re leaving?”

She looked at him and smiled sadly. Speaking of leaving people. First Ruby ran off, now she was going to, as well. Hopefully, she was making the right choice.

“When are you going?” He asked.

“Not sure, yet,” she said. “Me and Polly still haven’t really made a plan.”

“But it’s soon,” he said.

She nodded.

“Well,” he said, stepping away from the doorframe and into the shed. “Tell me, at the very least, that you plan on saying goodbye first.”

“Yeah, I…” She started, then smiled. “I guess we’ll see.”

“Oh, no—” He walked forward and smiled back, crossing his arms. “You’re not just leaving me with a note like your sister.”

“Maybe,” she shrugged, smirking. “Like I said, we’ll see.”

They looked at each other for a moment, then laughed. It felt good. To laugh. She hadn’t done it anymore. Tai probably noticed that, too. And he was probably happy to see her laughing again, after this long. So they kept laughing, for a little while. Part of Yang knew it wouldn’t last, but she wasn’t gonna focus on that right now. She was gonna let it take over, and keep it their as long as she could. Just laughing, smiling— not thinking about anything but right now. 

It didn’t stay forever, of course. Eventually, the two of them relaxed and their laughter slowed. Some of the dark thoughts— thoughts of the past— came back. She just shrugged them off, for now. Hopefully they would do her the courtesy of staying away, for a little while.

“Dad?” She asked, after a long pause.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

He smiled gently at her. After a little while, he nodded slightly.

“No need,” he said. “That’s what family’s for.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe.”

There was a brief silence again.

“But thanks, either way,” she said again.

“Sure,” he said, chuckling. “You’re welcome.”

Then they just sat there. They didn’t talk, they didn’t act, they didn’t do much of anything at all. Yang would be hard-pressed to say what she was even thinking about, during that time. All she really did was sit in the sun, letting the glow and the soft warmth wash over her. 

“Another storm is supposed to be coming in soon,” he said.

“In Patch?” She asked.

“Slightly,” he answered. “It’s gonna hit Mistral pretty much all over. We’ll just get some of the residual.”

“Seems late in the year,” she thought out loud. “For another blizzard, I mean.”

“Yeah, it’s been a weird Winter. Something tells me the weather’s gonna be weird for a little while, now.”

“Hopefully not too weird,” she said. “Because I’ve got a feeling in my gut that me and Polly are heading north.”

“Well, I hope you’re bringing your Winter coat, then.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I guess I’m gonna have to get used to the cold.”

She sighed.

“Never been much of a fan,” she added.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he chuckled again. “I still remember the year our heating broke.”

“Don’t remind me,” she said. “I was little and I still remember it. That Winter was hell.”

“I know,” he nodded, smiling. “You, your sister, and Summer made that abundantly clear to me.”

She laughed.

“Yeah, sorry,” she said. “I guess I could be a handful.”

“Handful’s a word for it. Not the one I’d choose, but a word.”

They laughed together, again. Savor the moment. After a while, when the laughter subsided, Yang looked down at her shoes.

“Dad?” She asked.

“Yeah?”

She looked up at him again.

“I’m sorry.”

For a few moments, he just stood there. He looked like he was thinking. Slowly, he started to nod. There was a quiet clicking noise. From his tongue, she guessed. Then he looked at her and met her gaze.

“Yeah, we’re all a little sorry for something,” he said.

“But I’m really sorry.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he shook his head. “You’ve been through more than… than most people your age. Than most people, period. These past few months haven’t been easy, especially.”

“That’s not an excuse to make them harder for you,” she said sadly.

“No,” he nodded. “But it makes it easy to let it go. And I can let it go. You’re the one who shouldn’t be asked to do that.”

“What does that mean, though?”

He thought for a while, again. Not moving, not looking at anything but the sun outside. He always made the same face, when he was lost in thought. Sort of a calm, gentle face, but one that had an air of seriousness, to it. It reminded Yang of home. Of her childhood. It reminded her of the things that she cared about.

She didn’t much want to think about those things, right now.

“It means that I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I’m sorry that you’ve had to go through what you’ve had to go through. This past year, to… to everything. How you grew up. Your mother. Your friends, your sister, your uncle. Me. Raven.”

She looked up at him, a sort of hollowness in her face. Like she looked tired, but she was really feeling something far deeper. Far sadder.

“Why did she leave?”

“Ask her,” he said with a sigh.

“How do I do that if I don’t know where she is?”

“Find her,” he shrugged. “You’re leaving home, aren’t you? Go find her, if you can.”

“How will I know when I’m close?”

“You won’t. You never know. You just have to take the jump, and see where you land.”

She thought about that. Staring down at the floor. She focused on the sound of silence that pervaded the room. It was constant. It didn’t move, it didn’t stop, it didn’t grow. It just was. And it felt like it always would be.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“What if I don’t like what I find?”

“You won’t,” he didn’t hesitate this time.

Then he added, “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try.”

So that was that. They stood there for a little while, not honestly doing much at all. The sun was beaming through over the horizon. It looked like it was starting to set. Funny how the day can vanish in just a few words. Yang felt like that was something she’d experienced a lot of, lately. The days going by. Unending, and yet the sun was constantly setting. Always dipping over the horizon, sinking into the deep void of beyond and giving them a few final wisps on warm purple and orange before leaving them once and for all. Or at least until tomorrow morning. Eventually, Yang realized the paint on her arm was dry.

“I guess I should finish this up,” she said.

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I’ll let you get back to it. Sorry.”

“Yeah.”

Gradually, he turned. Making way for the door, he glanced back at her one more time. She was looking at him still.

“Yang?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

She didn’t answer.

“It’s alright,” he said.

“Sorry,” she responded quietly.

“Yeah,” he smiled, somewhat sadly, before turning and stepping out the door. “We’re all a little sorry, sometimes.”

Then he was gone, and she was alone. She wasn’t alone for good, at least, but being on her lonesome was always lonely, no matter where everyone else was. Even if they were just one room over. Because they always felt further. She started putting the masks on over the yellow parts of her arm. It would cover them, block them from getting any of the black paint on them. Then she added the decal, with her symbol on it. It would go on the shoulder plate, right in the middle. Dark black on bright yellow, where no one would miss it. And no one would miss it, because everyone would see it. She had to make sure of that. She wouldn't lock herself in her room again. Everyone would see it. Everyone would see her. 

No one would miss her.

It felt like that might be the last time she’s doing much laughing, for a long while.

 

— — — 

 

It was dark by the time Yang was walking back to the house. The paint had finally dried off, and it was already pretty late. She was tempted just to sleep in the shed, out of laziness, but she decided against it. There were going to be precious few nights left at home, so she might as well get the most out of her bed. Who knows when she’d be back in it, next. If she ever would be back in it at all. The stars were glowing gently overhead, while she walked back. The moon was nowhere to be seen. New Moon, she supposed. Although she didn’t know much about the moon phases, so it was just a guess. She paused and stopped walking, at the base of the hill. It was chilly out, but she was taking her time anyway. She’d rather take a moment in the cold to look back up the hill over at the shed, than hurry back inside and ignore the property around her. Savor it. Theme of the day, it was starting to feel like.

Shaking her head, she turned back and continued on her path to the house. Based on her previous experiences, like working on her bike, she’d learned that painting things could be a bit of a process. Art takes time. So she’d honestly assumed she would be walking back in the late hours of the night. Like she was right now. That, she’d been expecting. What she hadn’t been expecting to see was Polly, still out, sitting on the porch in front of the door. Knees pulled in and close to her chest, the girl had her arms wrapped around her legs, tucking herself practically into a ball. Her head was tilted upwards, staring at the sky above them. Even though she heard Yang approaching— because Polly always knew when someone was approaching— she didn’t turn to look at her. 

“Polly?” Yang said, stopping behind her. 

She didn’t move, but the shorter girl seemed to acknowledge her presence, somehow.

“What are you still doing up?”

Polly didn’t answer right away. She just sat still, looking up. It made Yang wonder what she was thinking about. And that made Yang realize how little she thought about what Polly thought. Because she really never did. Which was odd. Growing up, Yang always prided herself on her ability to think about others. She wasn’t sure when it started, or what sparked it. But at some point, in her youth, she realized that other people think and feel, just like her— a pretty obvious realization to come to, but it had always seemed like other people struggled with those thoughts a lot. They always thought about what  _ they  _ wanted, first. And that was fine, at least she thought. You should care about yourself. But somewhere along the way, Yang started caring about everyone else more. Even Ruby, as much as she wanted to help other people, did it because she believed it was the right thing to do. Because  _ she  _ wanted to do good. Yang… didn’t really know what she wanted. So she did the only thing she could think off— give other people what they wanted.

How come she wasn’t doing that with Polly?

Right then, the dark-haired girl nodded up at the night sky.

“The sky?”

_ “The stars,”  _ Polly signed back, still not facing her.

Yang glanced up.

“What about them?”

_ “Just look.” _

So Yang looked. At first, she didn’t see anything. Then— then she saw it. Nothing in particular, really— no actual “it.” But just… the beauty of it. The twinkling, sparkling stars up above. Silver, bright, and glittering. They shone like beacons in the dark blackness that surrounded them, unfettered and undeterred. Even without the moon, brought brightness. They ensured there was light, even in the darkest depths of the heavens above. It was something special. And as little as that light was, it was there. And it wasn’t going anywhere, any time soon. Yang hoped it would stay that way.

_ “You know, the stars are always watching,”  _ Polly signed, not bothering to see if Yang had noticed her talking.

Luckily, she had.

“I guess,” she said.

_ “They never leave,”  _ Polly continued.  _ “No matter where you go…” _

She gestured to the sky.

_ “There they are.” _

“I… I’ve never really thought about that, before,” Yang said.

_ “Most people don’t,”  _ Polly exhaled softly.

“But you do.”

Nodding so subtly you might not even notice it, Polly dropped her chin behind her knees.

_ “I do.” _

“How come?”

_ “Because I had to,”  _ she answered.

Yang didn’t push it any further. Polly tended to get flighty the more personal you got. This time she’d prefer just to let the girl say her piece, rather than scare her off with honesty again.

_ “If you’re ever alone,”  _ Polly said.  _ “You can just remember that the stars are still there. Staying with you. Even in the loneliest of nights.” _

Of course, if Polly was gonna be honest first, maybe Yang  _ could  _ push a little bit.

“Do you feel lonely?”

Polly stared up silently. Yang couldn’t see her face, but she could tell she was thinking. 

_ “What I feel doesn’t matter,”  _ she said, finally.  _ “Only what I have to do.” _

“What we have to do,” Yang responded. “You mean.”

Polly seemed to hesitate at that. Then she did something Yang  _ really  _ never expected. 

_ “I have to do some things that I can’t ask you to be a part of.” _

It took Yang aback, hearing that. Not because of what that might mean, but because Polly just told her something. Something real. Not just some bullshit inspirational speech, or demands of what Yang had to do. That single, cryptic sentence told Yang more about her ex than anything she’d ever said to her before.

Of course, it still didn’t tell her very much.

“What does that mean?”

_ “Some of the things I’ve done, Yang…”  _ She paused, but she didn’t stop. Yang had never seen her like this before. At least, not since the night on the rooftops at Beacon.  _ “You would be ashamed of them.” _

“But you’re not?”

_ “I don’t feel shame for things that I have to do,”  _ Polly shook her head.

“It sure sounds like you’re ashamed of them,” Yang said.

_ “You don’t know very much about me, Yang,”  _ Polly ignored that.

“So I’m told.”

_ “But I’m telling you now— the things I’ve done? I’m going to do them again.” _

“But  _ why?  _ If you know they’re bad, then…” Yang tried to understand. “Why?”

_ “You and I have different definitions of bad,”  _ Polly answered simply.

“Maybe. Maybe you just think that.”

_ “I can’t ask you to hurt anyone you don’t want to hurt,”  _ Polly continued, definitely ignoring that one.  _ “But I have to.” _

“Who? Who are you going to hurt?”

Polly didn’t answer. And Yang couldn’t see it, but a thought rung out through the short girl’s head. Invisible, silent, voiceless. But it was there, and it bounced around freely, meeting the edges of her skull and ringing out through her mind. And no matter what she did, she couldn’t stop thinking it.

_ You. _

But Yang couldn’t hear that. 

Instead, she could hear the voice in her own head. And it told her something much different. It told her that now was the time— now was her chance. Now was her opportunity to give Polly what she hadn’t been giving her. This was her chance to become the person she used to be, again. At least, to start trying to be that person again. To be the person that cares about everyone else. And to start with Polly.

“Hey, Polly,” she said, reaching into her back pocket. 

She pulled out a dark, red scarf. For the past few days, she’d been hanging on to it. Why, she hadn’t been sure of. Until now.

“I want you… to have this,” she reached forward, holding out the scarf.

Polly looked at it, then shifted her gaze up at Yang. There was something untrusting, in her eyes.

“It’s just a scarf, Polly,” she said. “Take it.”

Hesitantly, Polly reached forward. It was soft, warm fabric, and she squeezed it lightly in her hand. After a moment, she looked at Yang again, questioningly this time.

“That was supposed to be a gift, for…” She hesitated, taking a breath. “For my mother. It was meant for her, when I finally find her, but… I think I want you to have it.”

_ “Why?” _

“As a thanks,” she said. “For helping me. Giving me a chance that… that not many people really seemed to be giving me.”

Then she smiled.

“And as an apology,” she added. “For… nearly breaking your face.”

Polly smirked.

_ “Well, I let you. I wanted you to,”  _ she said.  _ “Just don’t think I’ll let it happen again.” _

“Right, sure,” Yang chuckled lightly. It was weird, to be laughing about something like that. But Polly didn’t seem to be holding a grudge.

_ “But you should give this to your mother,”  _ Polly’s expression grew serious, and she tried to pass that scarf back.  _ “You don’t want me to have this.” _

“Yeah, I do,” Yang shook her head. 

But Yang knew Polly didn’t just need a gift. It was deeper than that.

She needed Yang’s trust.

“Because I know you’ll hang on to it,” she continued. “I know it’ll be safe with you. And when the time comes, you can give it back.”

Polly stared at her. She kept her gaze trained on Yang, her pupils narrowing and digging in deep. They watched closely like they were trying to understand something very complex. Something that they’d never seen before.

“Or, y’know, you could keep it,” Yang added. “If you want. It’s up to you. My mom seems like kind of an asshole, so I’m not even sure I’m gonna give it to her anymore.”

That last part was sort of a lie. Yang was starting to think that maybe her birth mother wasn’t the best person out there, but… She still needed to meet her. And she had every intention to give the scarf to her, anyway, up until now. But right now? She’d rather Polly had it. That was more important.

_ “I…”  _ Polly started.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Yang said. “I don’t know if red’s really your color, since you never wear it, but…”

She stopped, then nodded slowly.

“But I want you to have it. I mean it.”

Polly stared at the scarf for a while. Just looking down at it. This time, it didn’t seem like she was trying to understand anything. She wasn’t scanning, analyzing, discerning. She just stared at it. And her eyes— those emerald eyes— were still. They were more still than Yang had ever seen them. 

After a while, they moved again. When Polly looked up.

_ “I’ll keep it for now,”  _ Polly said, straightfaced.  _ “When you find your mother, I’ll give it back.” _

Yang just shrugged.

“Sure,” she said. “Sounds fine to me.”

Polly looked like she wanted to say something else. But she didn’t. The stars eventually drew her attention again.

“Well, I think I’m gonna head inside,” Yang said. “Pretty tired. You should get some rest too.”

Polly didn’t answer.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Yang continued, turning. Glancing over her shoulder, she added, “‘night.”

Polly nodded, faintly.

Sighing, Yang turned all the way. Making her way inside, out of the night outside, she was in her bed before she even realized it. But she was having a hard time sleeping. The stars were shining through her window, and her eyes seemed intent on staying open to look at them. So she did.

It was time to start giving a shit, again.

 

— — — 

 

The sun rose behind the clouds, this morning. It just meant that it wasn’t going to be as warm at the moment. Blue sky wasn’t really in sight at the moment, so it would be best to guess that it would stay that way. At least for the day. Then again, Taiyang had told her that there was another freak storm blowing in from the east. So maybe they were looking at gray skies for longer than just a day or so. Oh well. The good stuff never lasts, does it?

Yang was sitting on the front stoop, staring at the pale and colorless sunrise. It felt like something of an oxymoron, but at the same time, she supposed there was nothing that said a sunrise  _ had  _ to be beautiful. It had always just seemed like a given, but hey. Everything sucks every now and again. Somethings just do it more often than others. More often than not. Sighing, Yang looked away from the dull horizon. Instead, she diverted her attention to the toes of her boots. It felt good to be in them, again. Even she could admit that much. The thick soles felt sturdy and strong, beneath her feet. Like they were giving her a bit of a prop up. Elevation. Anything to give her a boost. Along with her sneakers, the rest of her latest outfit was tucked away in a closet in her room somewhere. She’d decided to do away with the lazy clothes at the same time she decided to finally clean all the junk and robot parts off her bedroom floor. That is to say, yesterday.

Now she was rocking something with a little more style. Long tailed brown leather jacket, with sleeves that came up just shy of the elbow. Yellow tank top beneath that. She made sure to bring a heavier jacket, too, since it would be colder up north, but she wasn’t gonna need to wear that yet. Right now, she was dressing more comfortably. Black pants, leather belt. An orange-yellow scarf. It was fitting enough that she could wear it for warmth without ruining her style. Her violet handkerchief was wrapped at her knee, again. 

 And of course, her knee-high brown leather boots. Steel-toed, this time around. Her new arm had taught her the value of keeping something to hit hard with, even if it you weren’t using a weapon. It wasn’t much, but it worked. And it felt right with the rest of her outfit. Which she was glad to be in. It had never occurred to her, but the rumpled cargo pants and thin gray hoodie was starting to get her down, a little bit. Or really, it had always been getting her down. Who knew dressing like you were tired could  _ make  _ you tired. Whatever.

A faint breeze blew through, and the grass rustled quietly around her feet. Breathing in gently, Yang rose to her feet and stretched her arms over her head. There was a quiet whirring from her metal arm extending, but it was so faint you could hardly hear it even if you were listening. It was almost as quiet as the sound of the front door clicking shut behind her. 

The sound of a throat being cleared made Yang glance back over her shoulder.

_ “New arm looks good,”  _ Polly signed.

Yang could see her signing, but it didn’t fully process at first. She was too busy being distracted by something else. Something she  _ certainly  _ had not been expecting. So much so that she turned all the way around and stepped back— nearly a stumble.

Polly was dressed slightly differently. Mostly all black, still, but there was one key difference— the faintest red highlight. It was in the laces of her boots, the cuffs of her jacket, the buckle of her belt— and wrapped around her neck. Deep, dark red. The same color as the scarf she was wearing— the scarf Yang had given to her. Not to mention her hair was let down, free and just below her shoulders. 

“Th-thanks…” Yang managed, finally. “You… look different.”

Polly just raised an eyebrow flatly.

_ “It’s just clothes,”  _ she responded.  _ “You’re dressed different, too.” _

Except, it wasn’t exactly  _ just  _ clothes. Not to Yang, at least. It was difficult to describe  _ why  _ she was reacting the way she was. Why she was standing there, mouth slightly agape, staring dumb like a confused puppy. It was difficult, in part, because Yang didn’t exactly know why she was acting this way, either. She was kind of figuring it out on the fly. And it was another part difficult to explain because Yang didn’t like the reason she was coming to realize.

Take a look back at Yang’s past… relationships. At Blake. At Polly, while at Beacon. A little commonality? Dark, with a mystery about them. Long and black hair. Pretty, but strong— maybe a little deadly. Safe to say she had a type. Even her first— and only— middle school crush had shared this with them. Of course, this was excluding people she had a passing attraction towards. But she figured they didn't count. That girl with the pink and brown hair she’d fought on the train had been hot, but that didn’t mean she wanted to take her out somewhere special. But these ones… Polly, Blake— ones she had felt… deeply. Strong desires. Ways she avoided feeling about them, now, but… she couldn’t deny having felt those ways at first. But looking at Polly now, dressed in black and red…It was standing right in front of her, looking right back into her eyes, like some sort of dirty, soul seeing mirror. Why had it taken  _ this  _ for her to notice it? Hell, she should’ve at least seen it when she gave Polly the scarf. The scarf that belonged to her mother, no less…

Dark, mysterious girls with long, black hair, who were beautiful but strong— with perhaps a bit of a dangerous streak. It sounded familiar, didn’t it?

Maybe Yang’s mother issues were a little more deep-seated than she’d wanted to admit… 

Eventually, Yang found enough words to muster an awkward, delayed response.

“R-right, yeah, you just—” She scratched the back of her neck, trying to look away. “Just didn’t expect it, is all.”

Polly just shrugged. Somehow, it seemed she hadn’t noticed Yang’s reaction. Or, far more likely, Yang decided, she had noticed it— she just didn’t particularly care. That seemed reasonably within Polly’s standards.

Trying her best to shake the feelings— which were, needless to say, gross— Yang changed the subject.

“So, uh,” she turned to look towards the trees ahead. “You ready to go?”

Polly nodded.

_ “And you?” _

“As I’ll ever be,” she said with a sigh. 

Slowly, she glanced back at the house. She felt bad, leaving in the early rays of dawn, like this. Especially after her last talk with her dad. Still, she felt like she had no other real choice. She didn’t know how to say goodbye. Goodbye was her least favorite word— she wasn’t sure if that was because of how often she heard it. 

Or maybe because of how often she  _ didn’t  _ hear it.

“To Mistral, then?”

Polly nodded again.

_ “To Mistral.” _

“And you’re sure Cinder will be there?”

_ “As sure as I can be,”  _ she said, before adding,  _ “Adam will be, too.” _

“Adam?”

Polly gestured at Yang’s arm.

_ “Your man.” _

“Right,” Yang said, taking a breath.

After a moment, she tightened her jaw and straightened her brow. Now wasn’t the place for fear.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “He seems like an ‘Adam,’ doesn’t he.”

_ “Wouldn’t know,”  _ Polly answered, before turning to look up at her.  _ “Seems more like a dead man, to me.” _

Yang met her gaze. There was still a bit of a shiver in her spine when she looked at Polly, but at least she could contain herself physically, this time.

“He can be both.”

Polly gave that same old smirk.

_ “That,”  _ she said.  _ “I can work with.” _

They looked at each other for a few moments longer. Eventually, their focus found its way to the road ahead. It seemed like a far way, even just off the property. But Ruby could do it. So would Yang. Because, love her or hate her, at least she had someone at her side. At least there was someone to help with the burden. Share the load. It was a long, dark road ahead. Dirty, old— overgrown, covered in moss. It went deep, far, way on out. Far beyond the binds of the land, the sea, even the sky. The stars only know where it would take her— where it would bring them. But she would follow it. One step is all it would take. One step, and she’d be following it to the very end. As long she had ground ahead, she would keep on going. One step at a time. Starting with this one. Walking, treading dirt along her chipped-paint yellow brick road. Who knows. Maybe in the end, it would be worth it. 

“Then let’s get moving.”

And then Yang took the step.


	16. Elision

**XVI**

**_Elision_ **

— — —  

_ “I've wept for those who suffer long  _

_ But how I weep for those who've gone  _

_ Into rooms of grief and questioned wrong  _

_ But keep on killing” _

_ — — —  _

“I wish I still had my bike.”

There was a chill in the air, and it bit sharply in the breeze that blew between them. It didn’t bother Neo very much, but Yang had lower her face slightly to avoid the brunt of it. One exceptionally dead oak tree shuddered beside them, and for a moment Neo thought the gust was going to take it down. But the winds died down a tad, and the branches grew still around them again. Yang brushed some of the hair out of her face and looked back up. Even with her hair tied back in a ponytail, the currents of the air still found a way to drop her bangs over her eyes.

“If we’re gonna head straight into a blizzard, it’d be nice to at least do it fast.”

_ “You could get a new one,”  _ Neo answered.

“Not the same,” Yang shook her head. “Not if I didn’t build it.”

Neo didn’t answer. She turned her head back to the path in front of them, thin layers of soil spilled over and obscuring the pale dirt road ahead. Gazing upward at the treetops, Neo imagined what this place must look like during the other seasons. Oranges and reds during the Autumn, falling gently and littering the grass around them. Verdant and green during the Summer, sprawling and teeming with life. Blossoming and pink in the Spring, the damp bark and dewy grass filling the air. Neo wondered which one she’d prefer, were she to walk through them with Yang. Which would be the easiest, which would she look around at the sky and the clouds and the leaves and the woman beside her—

What was she thinking about, again?

“So…” Yang pulled her from her thoughts. 

Much to Neo’s gratitude, as well.

“How much farther, exactly?”

It was a good question. Neo wasn’t sure, not exactly. They had come, what? Forty, fifty, sixty miles? More, or less? It must have only been a few days since they left Yang’s house. To be honest, Neo hadn’t been keeping track. And she doubted Yang had, either.

_ “The coast should only be a day or so out,”  _ Neo responded eventually.  _ “I think.” _

Then she looked up at Yang.

_ “You live on this island, shouldn’t you know?” _

Yang shrugged.

“No,” she said. “I’ve never gone to the east coast before. Not on foot, at least.”

Then she sighed and shook her head.

“Not like there was a reason to. The only good beach on Patch is the south one, and if you’re heading to Vale then you’re going south as well. Even if you’re headed to another kingdom, you go to the south port or the north port. The east is really just shipping.”

_ “Have you ever been?” _

“To the shipping port?”

_ “To another kingdom,”  _ Neo corrected.

“Nah,” Yang shook her head. “It’s always been Vale or Patch, for me.”

She thought for a minute before continuing.

“Not that I wouldn’t go,” she added. “Just never really had a chance.”

They walked silently for a short while, until Yang looked at Neo again. Neo glanced at her only briefly.

“What about you?” She asked. “How many kingdoms have you seen?”

It took Neo some time to decide how best to answer that. Pure honesty was off the table, for obvious reasons. She was pretty confident that it always would be, but that was neither here nor there. But Neo was a good liar, and good lying takes knowledge of how  _ much  _ you should lie. Tell a lie too big for your britches, and you could find yourself buried so deep in lies that you’ll never come out. And then you’re dead in the water. On the other hand, it wasn’t like Neo could really get any further into living a lie than she was right now. At least when she’s around Yang. Hell, she couldn’t even remember the last time she wasn’t wearing her disguise. A long time was as good as she could get. Still, it wasn’t just about being able to escape the lie. Lie too much and there’s bound to be a hole in your story. At some point or another. Then it doesn’t matter how good of a liar you are. The moment someone notices, the safety is off. After that, the truth is bound to come out. And when it comes out, it comes out with a bang. No lie can save you when you’re a known liar.

And a known liar isn’t a very good liar.

But then again, Neo was a good liar.

_ “Just the one,”  _ she answered honestly. Soon enough to not seem suspicious, but slow enough to sound hesitant. Like she didn’t want to talk about it.

Yang didn’t quite pick up on the hesitant part. Instead, she raised an eyebrow. That was worrying. Neo hoped she wasn’t forgetting something.

“But you went to school in Mistral,” Yang said finally.

Shit. 

She made a mistake.

How did she forget that? How the  _ hell  _ did she forget that?

_ “I didn’t,”  _ she forced herself to admit. It was going to be difficult to get out of this one, but she could spin it right. She believed she could.

“Then why,” Yang’s voice was starting to sound a little threatening. “Did you show up dressed like a Haven student?”

_ “Because I lied.” _

“And  _ why,”  _ Yang’s voice came through her teeth. “Would you do that?”

_ “Because I had fake papers,”  _ she said.  _ “So I could come to Beacon.” _

“I didn’t ask you  _ how,”  _ Yang spat, stopping in her tracks and staring at Neo. “I asked  _ why.” _

Neo was walking a thin line. This was a dangerous game, and someone was going to end up getting burned if she made a mistake. She was going to have to be perfect here.

_ “Because Cinder told me to,”  _ she said, stopping and looking back at Yang.

“Tell me  _ why _ . Right. Now.”

Sometimes the truth was the best answer. So long as you left out certain specifics, of course.

_ “Because someone I cared about was in danger,”  _ she answered. _ “And she told me I could save him if I did what she asked.”  _

All true, so far. If she picked her truths carefully and kept her disguise, she should be alright.  _ Polly  _ should be alright.

“So then you knew,” Yang hissed. “About the Fall.”

Neo couldn’t afford to hesitate.

_ “No,”  _ she lied.  _ “She didn’t tell me her plan.” _

“Then what did you do for her?”

_ “Anything she told me to.” _

“Like  _ what?” _

She shrugged.

_ “Drive her team places. Gather information. Learn the campus. Study threats.” _

This was all true. She just…  _ happened  _ to be leaving out the part where she had to wipe out an entire legion of Atlas soldiers and steal their airship to break out Roman. 

Sometimes, the things you don’t say are more important. Sometimes people judge based on what you didn’t say— they just fill in the blanks. This was not one of those times. Because Yang didn’t care about what Neo didn’t say.

All she cared about what was she  _ did  _ say.

“So you  _ studied  _ me?” She said. The air was growing hot around them.  _ “That’s  _ what we were?”

_ “No,”  _ she said, feeling a certain panic that she wasn’t used to. A quiet, subtle panic, but a panic nonetheless.  _ “You weren’t a target.” _

_ Please believe that,  _ Neo begged internally. She wasn’t sure she was begging for her sake, or for Yang’s.

And as far as Neo knew, that was actually true. Cinder never specifically told her to get to know Yang, that was mostly organic. But what she  _ also  _ knew was that Cinder did want information on Yang and her team, once Neo  _ did  _ start getting to know her. Neo had just made the choice to not make much of that information available to Cinder. But the question wasn’t whether it was true. The question was if Yang would believe it. Sometimes liars had a hard time telling the truth. Neo was at risk of crying wolf.

“That sounds like an awfully convenient excuse.”

_ “If you don’t believe me, you’re free to turn around and head back home.” _

There was a soft whirring sound from Yang’s arm as its fist tightened. Neo just raised her brow in response.

_ “Unless you’d rather settle this another way?” _

The heat in the air started to grow. It would’ve been a welcome change from the bitter air, if it weren’t for the implications that came with it. There was a slight glow radiating from Yang’s hair, although Neo wasn’t sure if that was Yang’s semblance or Neo’s imagination. It was dangerous territory either way. And Neo was pretty positive that the scarlet tinge in Yang’s eyes  _ wasn’t  _ her imagination. Of course, it wasn’t like Neo was afraid of a fight with Yang. Even after that beatdown session, she was still confident she could take Yang with ease. The girl had gotten stronger, but her anger was still an easily abused weakness of her. No, her fear was a lot simpler— Yang was going to be important to finding her sister. Neo couldn’t afford to make an enemy of the blonde. Not quite yet.

So it was time to find a way out.

_ “I didn’t know,”  _ Neo said plainly.  _ “But does it really matter if I did?” _

“Yeah,” Yang said. “I think it does.”

_ “Well, believe what you want,”  _ Neo shrugged.  _ “But if you want revenge, then I’m your best shot.” _

“I’ll find another way,” Yang said. “If it means I don’t have to run with a murderer.”

_ “Sure,”  _ Neo signed back.  _ “But do you really want to be alone, again?” _

Yang hesitated this time. The tension in her arms relaxed momentarily, and her eyes glanced downward for a second. When she looked back up, it was obvious she was trying to save face. But no amount of anger could hide that from Neo.

“You didn’t know about the Fall,” Yang said. “Right?”

Neo nodded.

“I need you to say it,” Yang pointed at her.

Doing her best not to roll her eyes, Neo raised her hands slowly and signed out, word by word.

_ “I didn’t know.” _

“I need you to  _ swear  _ it.”

_ “I  _ swear  _ I didn’t know.” _

She couldn’t help but roll them slightly this time. 

With her teeth grit, Yang slowly lowered her hand. Shoving her hands in her jacket pockets, she looked off towards the trees and away from Neo. 

Eventually, they started walking again. It was silent, for a long time. Not that Neo could do a whole lot to fill the silence. Instead, she just watched the gentle shudder of the trees as they walked past them. It was odd, the way the forest around them seemed so empty. So lifeless. Neo supposed that was Winter. Truthfully, she’d never really been in a forest that  _ wasn’t  _ like this. Prior to these last couple of months, she’d barely been outside of any cities at all. And if she’d ever been in a forest during the Summer or Spring, then she couldn’t remember it. Part of her was curious how much more alive the forest would feel beneath a hot sun. If it would be prettier, that way. Another part of her was just content with the quiet. But then she  _ did  _ do something to fill the silence. Without thinking, Neo began to hum gently as they walked. It was something she had never done around anyone— aside from Roman— and if she’d been paying attention, she probably wouldn’t have done it right now. But something got the better of her.

Slowly, Yang started to look her way. There was a curiosity in her face, close to confusion, as she watched the shorter girl humming along to herself. Neo stopped abruptly when she noticed Yang staring. 

“Where did you hear that song?”

After a moment of hesitation— real hesitation, this time— Neo just shrugged. 

_ “Don’t remember,”  _ she signed, her hands tucked close to her chest.

“Weiss used to sing that, a lot,” Yang said. “In the shower, mainly.”

Neo didn’t respond. Or even look at Yang.

“Sometimes she went to a music room to sing it. I don’t think she ever invited us to listen, though.”

Neo still didn’t look her way.

“Mirror Mirror, I think she called it,” Yang continued. “Pretty sure she wrote it.”

_ “Maybe I heard it on the radio,”  _ Neo signed carefully.

She actually wasn’t lying, this time. She didn’t remember when she’d first heard the song. But it was a while ago. At least a couple of years, or so. The song had always just… stuck with her. Even if she didn’t know what it was about. She didn’t know any of the words.

“Maybe,” Yang nodded. Then she sighed after a moment. “Maybe you heard her sing it. I don’t know.”

Yet again, Neo remained silent.

“Honestly, I’ve never really listened to the words,” Yang said, a few minutes later. “I hardly know what the song’s actually about.”

Then she looked up at the cloud-ridden skies.

“It always kinda stuck with me, though.”

Funny. 

_ “Me too.” _

Neo didn’t mean to say that.

It just kind of slipped out, somehow.

Yang just nodded. There was something calmingly sincere about the way she nodded. Nothing that Neo could pinpoint precisely, but it was there nonetheless. It was there as they walked down the dirty, roughed up path, deeper into the colorless, lifeless forest. It was there beneath the pale light of the sky above them. It was there among the brown, leafless tree branches that surrounded them. It was there atop the tall, dark green pines that could see a few miles off. It was even there in the soft but frigid breeze, and it wasn’t getting blown away. Neo wondered how long it would stay. And she was surprised by how much she welcomed it.

“You can keep humming,” Yang spoke after a while. “If you want.”

So she did. 

And it stayed, for maybe a little while longer. 

 

— — — 

 

The soft glow of the stars was nothing compared to the lights to the north. The bright greens and blues and purples should dazzle even the most terrifying of the Grimm. The curves of the aurora, the way it shimmered and swayed, made it a glowing sea in the night sky. The waves lapped from side to side, end to end, bright foam in the endless black ocean, stars like little sea creatures off deep in the dark depths of the unknown. Even in a crowded city street, it could give you a breath of solitude. The feelings of being truly singular in such a vast, wide universe. What did we do to deserve a reality like this? Did we earn this beauty?

Weiss wished she looked at it more often. 

Nevertheless, she turned away after a time. As much as she’d like to bathe in the cool lights all night long, she would have to tear her glassy eyes away eventually. Better to rip the bandage off now, rather than later. To the south, she was greeted by a rather different sight. A dense skyline of tightly packed buildings, concrete and metal and glass ascending way up high, further than mother nature had ever intended for people to climb. The stars seemed even more insignificant when surrounded by the glittering lights across the city. From bright street lights to flashing tower antennas, they shined in an almost marvelous unison. Even the rising smokestacks, billowing from unseen embers below, added something nearly intangible to the sight she beheld. There was a certain beauty to this as well, at least she thought. She wasn’t even certain which she preferred. Although she guessed that most would favor the former.

Fair enough.

There was a light gust that stole away with her sigh. A white trail followed behind her as her scarf fluttered in the wind. This would be the last time she saw either sight, for a long time. She didn’t wonder how long. It felt better not to think about that, for now. As much as it would liberate her to leave, it was hard. This was her home. Atlas was where she was born, where she was raised, where she lived. All of her earliest memories were here, and most of her important ones were as well. Her mother, her father, her brother— they would not be missed, but… it was difficult to leave family. Even if they were foul and terrible to her, a little part of her understood them. They were her blood, and, as loathe as she was to admit it, she could see a bit of herself in them. And a bit of them in herself. Maybe they didn’t mean to hurt her in the way they did. Maybe they were simply trying to love in the only way they knew how. Maybe they could do better, if only they were given a helping hand. Maybe.

This time, there was no breeze to take away her sigh.

She guessed she might miss them a little, after all.

Even so, she was leaving. That’s what was best for  _ her.  _ They might be able to change for the better, but that was not her responsibility. She was done trying. She was tired of focusing on everyone in her family but herself. She was tired of fighting for the company. Tired of working for the image. Tired of pushing for the family reputation. Tired of the name.  _ So  _ tired of the name.  _ Schnee.  _ It even made her stomach twirl when she thought it. And how cruel was that? To make someone hate their own name? She wasn’t sure if it was the name or that thought that made her the sickest.

So here she was, by herself, looking out over the helipad, waiting for her transport. It was coming from a man she’d never met, a man she’d never even so much as  _ seen.  _ He could be selling her to pirates, he could ransom her back to her family, he could be anything on a lost list of the most filthy people around. And yet she would trust him, because she had no other choice. Because there was no one in her family that she could trust. Oh well. We make our greatest growths in times under pressure. At least that’s what Winter used to tell her. 

Winter. Hopefully she’d find her soon. Last she’d heard, her sister was stationed somewhere in Mistral. In her 18 years Weiss had only been to Mistral a handful of times, and she hadn’t had the freedom to explore the city at all. Her father’s business and her singing would always have prevented it. Of course, it wasn’t like he would’ve let her explore anyway. There could be nothing in the way of her freedom, and still her father would still find a way to block her from reaching it. So she certainly wouldn’t miss him  _ that  _ much. Truthfully, the only city she’d been able to actually see other than Atlas had been Vale. And that was only  _ after  _ she left for Beacon. Any of the dozen or so times she’d visited before, her father locked her in some hotel room just the same as Mistral. She couldn’t remember when she first realized she hated him for it, but it grew gradually. Over time. That was one important memory she was missing. 

A voice snapped her from her thoughts, if only briefly.

“You ready to go?”

Turning, she got her to finally see the man who be taking her to Mistral. He didn’t look much like a pirate. Just a man in a pilots uniform, presumably with the skills that came with it. A black visor obscured his eyes, but she wasn’t too worried. Growing up around old rich men had made her used to wandering eyes. At least the ones who wore dark glasses did the courtesy of hiding it. She’d learned that people were better when they had the decency to be ashamed of themselves. She wondered if that made her a good person too.

“Hello, you hear me?” He waved his hand for her attention. Evidently she had slipped right back into her brain. “I wanna get going now. My husband is waiting for me.”

Maybe she had misjudged, a little.

“Yes, of course,” she said, nodding her head slightly. “I apologize.”

The back of her brain started to itch.

_ But you’re not ready,  _ she heard the whisper again.

Perhaps that was true. As much training as she’d done, she felt like she still wasn’t where she needed to be. Her summoning had improved, certainly. It was far better than it had ever been. But she could feel something deeper. More powerful, more vital. And try as she might, she couldn’t uncover it. It was buried way down under, and every time she dug the shovel would snap and the dirt would come pouring back in. Maybe she could dig further if she climbed inside as she went, but then if it caved… Weiss didn’t plan on being buried alive. Drowned in soil. So she hadn’t gotten any further than before. The day when she felt it the strongest— she hadn’t been closer than she had been then. The day the plane ripped by overhead and pulled her from her thoughts. Maybe it was physical. Something she was doing wrong, that was preventing her. Maybe it was mental. A barrier she’d created, one that she couldn’t cross. Because she was afraid. 

She shook slightly. Better not to think about it.

_ Better to give up,  _ she heard.

It was difficult to push those thoughts away. Eventually, she realized the pilot was speaking. Walking, too. She hadn’t noticed herself start to follow him. Slowly, she started to tune in to what he was saying.

“…It might seem silly, but it’s my plane,” he said. “My rules. Either you follow them, or you find a new airship. And a new pilot.”

“I understand,” she lied. She would have to figure it out as she went along.

“Good,” he said. “I’ve done a dozen runs like this, and I’ll be damned if some princess is gonna be the first time I get caught.”

“Of course,” she said.

“Right,” he nodded. “Well, we’re heading east first, just so you know. I’d prefer to avoid the south border at all costs. Security is tight, these days, especially after the Fall.”

“That sounds fine,” she said.

He glanced back at her.

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

She paused a moment. Not for any particular reason. She just didn’t answer right away.

“I suppose not,” she answered.

“Well, that’s fine by me,” he said. “Just stay in the cargo hold if you’re gonna loom awkwardly.”

She didn’t bother to answer this time. It didn’t feel like it mattered too much. And she was too busy with her thoughts. 

“Well,” he stopped. “Here we are. This is the one.”

It was a relatively small cargo craft, white paint and the Atlas insignia. The rudders seemed clean and well polished, and there wasn’t so much as a scratch on the wings.

“Hop in the back,” he nodded to the open cargo bay. “There’s an open box. You’ll have to hide in it when we reach the east border, but for now you should be alright. Get as much fresh air as you can, right now. It’ll be a while before you can get it again.”

She turned and climbed up the ramp. Turning, she looked back out towards the city. There was an image that Weiss couldn’t remember. Up until now. A memory she forgot she had. That she wasn’t sure of the origins of. The tree in her backyard. A large cherry blossom tree, imported from Mistral. Rather pretty. In the spring, it’s leaves glowed bright pink in the dewy sunlight. Her mother would always sit beneath it, when the sun was out, with a book and some whine. She had many memories of that, of fighting for her mother’s attention while the woman focused on her bottle instead. But this was not one of those memories. This image was something that didn’t seem quite right.

She was small, and young. Her eyes didn’t feel very far from the ground. And her mother wasn’t there, in her seat. It was vacant, devoid of all human life. She was alone, save for the birds and butterflies. And it was not a cherry blossom tree, swaying softly beneath the warm sun. No, it was a great willow, towering way up. It went further than any tree she’d ever seen, nearly touching the clouds in the vibrant blue sky. Its long branches came down far, green leaves hanging and swinging in the gentle wind. Its trunk was twisted and gnarled, painting something of a grand wisdom to it. It was thick and large, with hard bark that grew mossy towards the bottom. There were perhaps a thousand years to the tree and yet still it grew and thrived, ancient and ancestral. It was a forgotten remnant of some bygone age, born and growing still since time immemorial. And she stood beneath it, looking up to it with childish awe.

She didn’t know where this memory came from. She didn’t recall the tree. Maybe it had been somewhere else? It seemed unlikely. Perhaps it had been cut down, for some reason— it could have been dangerous, had she tried to climb it. Or maybe her mother wanted the blossom tree there, so it had simply been removed. It seemed like a waste, to remove some a grand artifact of the past. But it wouldn’t surprise her. Then again, she still couldn’t be sure…

The aircraft began to lift off the pad. The cargo bay door began to shut as they rose slowly, but she had time to gaze out the back one more time. Going to the east, she looked to from where they were coming. She could see both of them— the aurora lights to the north, and the city lights to the south. Two beauties, of opposite qualities. They stared at each other in a sort of harmonious luminosity. They were even more beautiful together. And in the middle, right in between, was her source— the mansion from which she fled. The Schnee estate. Home. It would be a long time, she thought again, before she would return and see it once more. Who knows. Maybe she would never see it again.

She wondered how bad that would really be.

 

— — —

 

The truck shook along the cracks, bouncing on rocks on the unmaintained road. There was a rattling noise beneath them every time the vehicle lurched downward, the underbelly only narrowly avoiding collision with the ground below. The screeching noise of the tires any time the truck turned was enough to make you cringe, and it turned a lot. All things considered, the truck seemed pretty durable given the circumstances. To say the roads were rough would be an understatement. Even under normal conditions, the particular road they were on was an absolute wreck. It looked like it must have been years since a crew had last worked on it. And why would they? Even just this far outside the kingdom, every settlement struggled to survive. The Grimm seemed to like this area particularly. But of course, this wasn’t normal conditions. The howling winds, the torrential rain, and the screaming thunder helped to reaffirm that thought. One of the villages they’d passed through warned them of an incoming blizzard, but that hadn’t arrived yet. So who knows where this rainstorm was coming from. Or if it’s even related or not.

And even with all that in mind, the road was still the least of Ruby’s worries right now. It was hard to be more than that, when she had concerns as pressing as the ones she had currently. There were few things that could ever overtake what she was anxious about. There were few  _ people  _ she could be more anxious about this situation. Maybe her dad. That seemed like a fair one. And if it was— 

Something in her mind avoided her sister’s name.

Ruby didn’t want to think about her. Especially right now.

Instead, she focused on other matters. The aforementioned  _ pressing  _ matters. And maybe pressing was a bit of an understatement. 

Her uncle was coughing up blood in her arms, after all. 

“Watch left, left!” Jaune’s voice shouted from the front. 

One of the Mistrali Task Force troopers had fallen into the swarm of Grimm, when the truck plowed through to save them. Someone needed to help with the navigation— even more so in the storm— and Jaune had offered to be that person. He always had to be doing something or another. It seemed like it helped get his mind off of things. Things that none of them really wanted to think about. Ruby wondered if Jaune would ever talk about it— about Pyrrha. Because he hadn’t, yet. Over two months, and he’d still hardly so much as mentioned her. At least, not when he was awake. He talked in his sleep, sometimes. Ruby heard it when she had trouble sleeping. At least, when she was having trouble sleeping, and he wasn’t  _ also  _ having trouble sleeping.

Granted, there hadn’t been much time to talk lately. Between the scorpion Faunus that had attacked them and stung Qrow, the massive half-horse half-man Grimm they had fought, and the massive mob of Grimm that had surrounded them, they had been fairly busy over the past few days. Still. Jaune didn’t talk so much, anymore. Not about the things that Ruby thought he needed to talk about.

“There were just… so many…” Nora was sitting against the side wall of the truck, with her knees pulled up against her chest.

Ren was squatting beside her. His hand was on her shoulder gently, and his eyes were focused on the floor.

“It was like Kuroyuri all over again…” She was staring off at nothing as she spoke. “And that monster… he was still there…”

“He’s not anymore,” Ren said. “We made sure of that.”

Ruby had never seen Ren look the way he looked right now. There was a certain cold determination in his eyes— an icy vengefulness— that he’d never shown before. It was a little scary to see. Hopefully his usual warmth would come back. But she wasn’t holding out on that being soon. Definitely not while they were in this truck.

“R…” Qrow’s voice was quiet— almost inaudible. He spoke with a weakness Ruby had never seen in him, through her whole life. And his eyes didn’t even open.

“Uncle Qrow,” Ruby leaned in close and held onto him. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay, we’re gonna make it.”

The gash in his side was throbbing against her waist. It seemed like it had only gotten worse since they’d gotten away. Which they were lucky they did. If the task force hadn’t seen them when it did… Well, surrounded by that many Grimm, with their strongest fighter unconscious below them? It was hard to imagine a scenario where they make it.

“Rave…” He muttered faintly, coughing once or twice. 

“Qrow?” She tried to shake him slightly.

But he was out cold. The words he was saying weren’t his— at least, not ones that he was trying to say. A cold sweat rolled down his forehead, and he shivered in Ruby’s arms.

“Tai doesn’t… doesn’t blame…” His words were barely comprehensible, at this point. “Not… not your fault…”

He was silent again. For a moment, Ruby feared the worst. His breaths were so slow, so shallow, she could hardly feel them. Against her skin, he felt cold. Ice cold.

“Uncle Qrow,” she shook him again.

He didn’t move.

“Uncle Qrow.”

His head drooped to one side.

“Uncle Qrow!”

She shook him and he coughed. A wheezing, hacking cough, wet with blood that was sickening to hear and even worse than some of his coughs before— but it was music to Ruby’s ear. Coughs meant life, right now. Just keep coughing, and she would know he’s still alive. 

“Just hang in there,” she whispered. “Just a little longer.”

At first, she didn’t notice the silence. It wasn’t gradual. It was sudden, almost immediate. It came out of nowhere, basically. But she didn’t pick up on it, right away. Not on the way the truck stopped shaking, or the rain stopped pattering against the roof, or the way roads seemed to smooth. She didn’t notice until Jaune was standing in front of her, looking down at her and speaking.

“Jaune?” She looked up at him. “What did you say?”

“I said we’re in the eye of the storm,” his voice was serious, but gentle. It helped to calm her, if only a little bit. “We will be for a little while longer. Hopefully until we reach Mistral.”

“How far are we?” Nora raised her head as she cut in.

“Not too far,” Jaune said. “Maybe an hour, if the roads stay fair.”

“Good,” Nora nodded. “I just want to get somewhere warm.”

Ren didn’t speak. Instead, he just rubbed Nora’s back soothingly. Her eyes dropped shut gradually, and she let her head fall onto his shoulder. Sleep took her, soon enough.

“Ruby?” Jaune was still standing in front of her.

“Yeah?”

“It’s gonna be alright,” he said. “We’re gonna make it.”

Ruby’s gaze fell to her uncle’s face. He seemed almost serene, in his current state. You could forget that he was dying, if you were just staring at him.

“I…” She hesitated. “I know.”

She didn’t like that she hesitated.

Jaune stood there for a little while without saying anything. She felt like she should say something to him, but she didn’t know what. People were complicated. It would’ve been easier if he was just a broken weapon, to be repaired. But he wasn’t. He was broken in some other way.

“Jaune?” She looked up at him again.

“What is it?”

“Are…” She wasn’t sure what she was doing. “Are you okay?”

He didn’t answer. Not at first.

“You can tell me if you’re not,” she said.

“I’m alright,” he answered finally. “Just worry about your uncle, right now. The driver might need my help again.”

She wanted to say something else, but she didn’t know what. So instead she just let him turn and walk away, back to the front of the truck. And she just watched him. Her eyes fell back down to Qrow. She was watching him, too. She was watching him suffer. She was watching Jaune suffer. But she hadn’t left home to watch people suffer. She’d left home to stop the suffering. To help people who were suffering. She would have to figure this out. Qrow couldn’t suffer anymore. Jaune couldn’t suffer anymore. She left home because she wouldn’t watch any more suffering.

She left home because she wouldn’t watch her sister suffering anymore.

Maybe that wasn’t fair.

 

— — — 

 

The clitter-clatter of the train against its tracks below made it difficult for Blake to sleep. Sound solidified in her brain and bounced around back and forth, locking her in with nothing but the onomatopoeia of her thoughts. The rough wooden floor was softened only slightly by the thin layer of hay that covered the top of it. What it was for, she had yet to determine. To be honest, she didn’t know what kind of train this was. Transportation of goods, obviously, but what those goods were was anyone’s guess. If she had to decide, she would say that this car at least for was livestock of some sort. Cows, sheep. Horses, maybe. Really, it didn’t particularly matter to her. The purpose of the train was irrelevant. It was empty right now anyway. All that mattered was where it was going. And it was going where she was going, so she was on it. And she had no intention of getting off it until she was there.

Of course, she was also hesitant. Part of her didn’t want to go. Part of her wanted to just go straight back to Menagerie, home to her parents. But she couldn’t go back. Not now. There was nothing there for her anymore. They would have a hard time understanding— so she left in the night, just like she did before— but this was her only option. They would have to just trust her. Maybe they would understand eventually. Maybe they wouldn’t. It couldn’t stop her either way. She had to go. She had to be on her own. The White Fang always followed her. Adam always found her. She wouldn’t let that hurt anyone else ever again. She couldn’t keep bringing that to everyone else. The White Fang was in Mistral. Adam was in Mistral.

So she would go to Mistral. 

Her chin was between her knees, and her amber eyes glowed yellow in the darkness of the train car. There was a faint bit of light peeking its way through the cracks in the walls, streaming downward like diagonal lines. She stared at the dust that floated through the beams of light, seeing each one pass through and vanish into the dark. She could still see them, of course, but she stopped following them once they were out of the ray. Nothing caught her attention even once, so long as her eyes were on the light. There were few things to look at, anyway. Some broken pebbles sitting off in the corner. A dried leaf that had been blown in when she stepped inside. A small pile of dark cloth sitting across from her. Not much in the way of interesting pastimes. So the dust in the air would do.

She thought about what she was going to do. What her plan was. Which, to be truthful, wasn’t much of a plan. There wasn’t much that she’d really thought ahead about. All she knew was that she had to find a way to end this. To end her curse. She had to rid herself of this pain. No matter the cost. She was going to reach Mistral. She was going to find the White Fang. She was going to find Adam. And she was going to do whatever it takes. And if she had to pay the highest price of them all, well— maybe that was better than whatever life she was living right now. She thought about this, and she thought about it deeply. So deeply, in fact, that she didn’t notice that the pile of cloth wasn’t actually a pile of cloth after all. And she didn’t notice that she wasn’t alone, in this train car. 

The ears on her head stood up straight, and her eyes shot up. The pile of dark cloth was starting to stir. It was slow, almost laborious movement, like it was sleepy or groggy. The sound of the itchy fabric rubbing together was quiet, but her ears were acute enough to pick up on it anyway.

“Who’s there?!” She jumped up, into a low stance. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of Gambol Shroud.

“Oh, hush, now,” the voice was loud and shrill, with a certain age to it. “Do you really think you’re the only purpose on this train?”

The top of the cloth rose enough to reveal the wrinkled face of an elderly woman with pale white skin. Very pale skin.

“How long have you been there?!” Blake didn’t feel quite as threatened, seeing her age, but still. It was hard not to be paranoid.

“Longer than you,” she said. “If I hazard to guess.”  
Blake kept staring at her, her ears like a jackal’s.

“Quit staring at me like that,” the woman said. “And sit down! You’re like a cornered animal or something.”

Blake relaxed slightly and slowly lowered to the floor, but kept her hand on her weapon.

“And you Faunus wonder why people confuse you for animals,” the woman continued. “You know, just because you have cat ears doesn’t mean you have to act like one.”

Blake just glared at her.

“I don’t like being surprised,” she said.

“Most people don’t, but you don’t see us staring at old women like they had a gun to your head.”

The only noise was the clanging of the train wheels below.

“Well, don’t just sit there like a kicked dog! Say something!” The woman said after a moment. “Conversation is a two way street. And one word answers won’t cut it!”

“I don’t even know who you are.”

“Do you need to?” The woman sounded nearly incredulous. “Why can’t you just give an old woman a nice little chat to pass the time?”

Blake sighed and rolled her eyes.

“What do you want me to say?”

“Oh, no,” the old woman shook her head. “You see, that isn’t how it works. I can’t pick what you talk about. You have to just talk, and maybe we find something to settle on.”

“I’m not much of a talker,” Blake said.

“I can tell,” the woman smiled a yellow, toothy smile. “How about this? I ask you questions, and you answer them. Yes? How does that sound?”

“Whatever,” Blake shrugged.

“You’re far more difficult than you warrant being, you know,” the woman sighed.

“What does that—” Blake started, before she was interrupted.

“Where are you on your way to?” The woman asked. “A young woman like yourself, headed somewhere all alone? What’s that about?”

“I could ask the same thing,” Blake said. “An old woman, all by herself, on a train.”

“Ah-ah, I asked first,” the woman responded with a smile. “And who’s old?”

“You just—”

“I can call myself old,” she said. “You can’t.”

Blake rolled her eyes again, but this time she smiled slightly.

“So,” the woman said again. “Where are you going?”

Blake thought for a moment. She didn’t particularly want to answer. Every time she opened up, bad things tended to happen. It was always inevitable. Then again… It wasn’t like she’d see this old lady for very long. Once she was off this train, she’d never see her again. Most likely. So was there really so much harm? Maybe it would help her, to talk for a little while. She hadn’t had anyone to talk to recently. So she relaxed, took her hand from her weapon, and sat cross-legged as she spoke.

“Mistral,” she answered finally.

“Oh? And what’s waiting for you in Mistral?” The woman asked.

“Things that I need to deal with.”

“And what are those, hm?” The woman prodded. “A handsome boy? Or maybe a pretty girl?”

“No,” Blake shook her head. “I have a job to finish.”

“Are you sure it’s not a pretty girl?”

“No,” Blake sighed. “She’s long gone.”

“But there is a pretty girl, then,” the woman smiled. “You’re just running from her.”

“I’m just doing what needs to be done,” she said sadly.

“It doesn’t sound like what you want to do.”

“What I want hasn’t mattered for a long time,” Blake looked off into space as she spoke.

“Well that’s a poor way of looking at the world,” the woman frowned. “Wouldn’t you say?”

“Maybe,” Blake shrugged. “But it’s the only way I see it.”

“And you see, that’s the problem,” the woman said.

“And what makes you say that?”

“Well,” the woman leaned forward slightly. “If what you want doesn’t matter, then why are you even still alive?”

“What?”

“What I mean,” the woman continued. “Is that everything wants something. From the frogs to the fish to the birds to people. Everything that lives, wants. That’s life. Want. You get up every morning because you want something. You work because you want something. You earn money because you want something. Wants can be simple, or they can be complex. But a want is a want, no matter how you phrase it.”

“Well, then maybe what I want isn’t what I deserve,” Blake said.

“Hogwash,” the woman snapped.

“Excuse me?”

“Hogwash,” she repeated. “Tell me, dear, this girl— I’m right, you’re running from her, yes?”

“Who?”

“Don’t be daft, now,” she shook her head. “I can tell you’re smarter than that. Your pretty girl, of course.”

“Well, I ran from her before,” Blake nodded. “Now I just know that she’ll never take me back.”

“I say again,” the woman said. “Hogwash.”

“With all due respect,” Blake glared at her. “You know nothing about me or my problems.”

“Maybe so,” the woman considered. “What’s your name?”

“Huh?”

“Huh, hm? That’s an odd name.”

“What?”

“What?” The woman raised her brow. “Is that your last name?”

“No, what?” Blake’s mouth was open slightly.

“Oh, quit staring all dumb,” the old woman cackled. “I’m just pulling your tail. Now tell me, really, what is your name?”

“Blake,” she answered after a time. “It’s Blake.”

“Hm, Blake,” the woman nodded slowly. “I’ve been looking for you, Blake.”

Blake’s bright amber eyes narrowed. Her hand started moving slowly towards her weapon again. 

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, don’t be so suspicious. Someone like you, I mean,” the woman said, rustling what you could only presume was her hand through the cloths that covered her. “Here, I have something I’d like to give you.”

Blake didn’t answer. Her eyes stayed narrow, but she let her hand stop short of her weapon.

“Here,” the woman finally pulled something out of her dark rags, too small to be seen clearly in her boney white hands. “Use those cat-like reflexes of yours.”

She tossed the object towards Blake, who snatched it out of the air. Pulling it close to examine it carefully, she saw that it was a small wooden ring. It was crafted beautifully, carved very particularly in some foreign style she didn’t recognize. There was something distinctly oriental about the workmanship, but she wasn’t precisely sure how. There were long, snake-like dragons carved into it, and they came together to meet at a bright, gleaming amethyst gemstone. It shined brightly, and was cut into a perfect half-sphere. Something about the way it reflected gave it the impression that there was something inside. It almost seemed like it was staring back up at her as she looked down at it.

Without even noticing, she found herself closer and closer to putting it on.

“Don’t put that on, dear,” the woman pulled her from her thoughts. “I’m not giving that to you, I’m giving that to your special lady. You’re just going to take credit for it.”

Blake looked up questioningly.

“What?”

“Something gives me the inkling that you’ll see your pretty girl of yours, Blake,” the woman said. 

“She doesn’t live in Mistral,” Blake responded.

“I never said she did,” the woman said. “But that doesn’t mean you won’t see her there. And when you do, you’ll give that to her. When the time is right.”

“Why?”

“Because you want her,” the old woman put her wrinkled hand on her porcelain white chin. “And I believe she probably wanted you, until you ran.”

“But she didn’t,” Blake shook her head. “She had someone else.”

“Maybe,” the woman shrugged. “But you had a chance to prove you were better for her. And you blew that chance. But lucky for you, most things don’t last forever.”

Blake didn’t answer.

“I’ll tell you what,” the old woman went on. “You wait until the two of you are alone, you confess, you apologize, you make it right. And you give her that ring. If she’s truly as special as you think she is, then that will be enough.”

“I don’t think—”

“I don’t care what you don’t think,” The woman snapped again. “People who cause us such problems in our hearts that we have to run away from them are rare. It would be a waste to let her go because you made a mistake.”  
Blake didn’t know how to answer that.

“Like I said, life is all just want,” the woman said. “And you’re still alive, so you still want. If the things you need to deal with are in Mistral, then so will she. Deal with her right this time. Don’t let her go.”

“I don’t know…”

“Of course you don’t,” the old woman grinned. “You’re young and stupid. But I’m old and wise. Love is too important to run from. Do it right, and she’ll be yours. She’ll have no choice but to be.”

Then the woman just smiled contently. She leaned back against the wall and drooped down gently.

“Now, I’m weak and tired,” she said. “I’d like to be sleeping again. Thank you for the conversation, dear Blake. It wasn’t so bad, was it?”

And with that, she dropped her head back to her rags, obscuring her face once more.

“I guess not,” Blake muttered.

Then she felt a smile creeping softly onto her face. She turned the ring over in her palm.

She’ll be yours…

Blake half noticed the way the woman looked like she was nothing more than a pile of dark cloth again, but she didn’t pay it much mind.

_ She’ll take you back,  _ Blake thought to herself.  _ She has to, right? _

Blake kept smiling. She leaned back against her wall as well, nuzzling herself into the most comfortable position she could find. The lids of her eyes seemed heavy, and they started to gradually fall shut over her eyes. As she drifted off into slumber the beams of light slowly faded off, and with them the dust that they revealed. Even in the shaking, rumbling train, on the harsh wood floor, she was able to slip off into the world of dreams, sleeping sound and still. Before she drifted off, she took care to keep a tight hold on the ring in her palm.

What Blake never noticed was the dark veins that branched down along the side of the old woman’s pale, white neck.

 

— — — 

 

“Something’s wrong, here,” Yang spoke in a low, hushed tone, readying her gauntlets.

Polly didn’t bother to respond. There was a near silent hiss of metal, and then she was holding her thin, needle-like blade at her side. They walked forward together, carefully stepping in just shy of perfect unison. In front of them, the door to the port warehouse swung on its hinges in the soft wind. It was opened wide, but there was no sign of any force or struggle. The faint creak of the aged metal was near constant, seemingly ignoring the rest of the place’s distinct lack of noise. Even the wind seemed hauntingly silent. As they walked through the entrance, Yang pulled the door shut behind them. It locked with a resounding metal  _ thunk,  _ leaving them in silence again. 

At least, near silence.

The building was filled with rows and rows of wooden crates, ranging from big to small to everything in between. There were some metal boxes that seemed a bit more protected than most of the other goods. An entire section of the crates had the large, bright snow-flake SDC logo plastered on the face of them. It made Yang think of Weiss. She wondered what she was doing, right now. What she would say if she could see Yang now, creeping along silently in some dangerous warehouse. She’d probably criticize her stance— tell her that she wasn’t using the proper form for the given circumstances. If she wasn’t as focused as she was, Yang would’ve smiled. She always liked talking fighting with Weiss. The two always seemed to share a high opinion of combat as an art, rather than just a form of self-defense. Even if they preferred wildly different types and adopted completely different styles, there was always a mutual respect. She wished she’d talked to Weiss more, about this stuff. Maybe some other stuff, too. 

But that wasn’t a priority, right now. Because it wasn’t silent. Not quite. The soft  _ plink-plink-plink  _ of liquid dripping onto the metal floor was somehow a lot more disconcerting, when it was the only noise you could hear. As they approached the opposite side of the warehouse, the rows of boxes began to thin and come to an end. Just a few feet away from them was a lone, single door; one more barrier before the furthest edge of the building. Dropped in front of the door was a crate— large, heavy, wooden— tipped over and pushed in the way of the exit. Yang took to one end and pushed it carefully out of the way. Something inside her edged her to push it as quietly as she could. It moved with a faint but distinct screech, its nearly splintered corners dragging along the metal surface below it. Once it was off to the side, Polly took position between Yang and the door. She threw up a hand, signaling to wait. The floor was as silent as a cloud beneath Polly’s steps. The ambiance returned to as it was before: the pitter-patter of something dripping down up ahead.

Yang raised her fists and armed her gauntlets. Taking each step carefully, Polly reached forward and wrapped her fingers around the door handle. With the softest click, the handle went down and the door swung open towards them, revealing the scene before them. 

The thing that stuck with Yang the most was the eyes. Glassy, clear, and still, they seemed to stare back at her with an empty but piercing gaze. They seemed so lived in, so aware— and yet there was no denying the death that had taken them.

That is, in the ones that still had heads.

Scattered across the room was the mangled, desecrated corpses of what she could only assume was the warehouse and dock workers. Some of them were mostly in one piece. Most of them were in more. The walls were so red you might mistake it for paint. There were body parts along the floor. Only a few of them were recognizable. It was hard to determine who each internal organ belonged to. The ones that were pouring out of the worker’s torso were the easiest to decide the source of. It turned out that intestines were pretty long, too. Even the ones that were strung along the ceiling were still inside connected to their owners. As long as they hadn’t been cut in half. The source of the dripping noise had been made apparent, at least. A corpse, bisected at the waist, hung upside down from the ceiling, his hands dangling towards the floor. As it swayed ever so slightly, drops of blood rolled down his fingers and dripped into a small red puddle below. A lot of the heads didn’t have faces anymore. Some of them still did, and Yang thought those were the worst, at first. Then she saw the eyes. The  _ other  _ eyes. The ones that weren’t in their skulls anymore. They all wore that same helpless dead stare, even separated from their own bodies. That was the thing that would sear itself into Yang’s retinas for a long, long time. 

There was movement in the room, but Yang didn’t notice at first. Eventually she picked up on the tall, black figure shambling towards them. Tall, thin, lanky, the pitch-black form of a man-shaped Grimm shuffled towards them, its tiny and beady red eyes peering through a horribly expressionless white mask. The arms were so long and drooped so low that its thin and bony fingers nearly dragged along the floor. It moved with horrid silence, even the sound of its loping steps making only a fraction of a noise. There was a small little circle of mutilated remains, almost like some crude altar, where it had just been crouched. Even as it grew closer, Yang was frozen. Her whole body felt heavy. There was a pit in the base of her stomach, pooling and growing heavier, rising up her gut and throat slowly.

In the meantime, Polly was unphased. She was at the creature’s throat in an instant. Yang couldn’t even muster the strength to turn. The flurry of blows, metal crashing against black, void-like flesh— it was muffled and distant in Yang’s ears. The pulsing of blood in her ears was too loud, and the veins of her limbs were flooded with cold liquid stone. There was nothing in the world that could tear her away from the dreadful, unwavering agony of the scene surrounding her. The air was without temperature, and she felt frigid to the bone. Life ending stillness held her there, mouth agape, filled with a sickening hollowness— one that spun the webs of nausea through her stomach.

Then there was a crash of limbs and flesh, and Yang was sprawling to the floor. Polly was on top of her. There was something wet and soft beneath her, but Yang was faced up and didn’t dare turn around. Polly was signing something to her. The words took time to register. Time they could hardly afford.

_ “Wake up,”  _ there was a forcefulness to Polly’s signs.  _ “I need you here.” _

“Th… they…” Even Yang didn’t know what she was trying to say.

Polly threw a slap across her face.

_ “Forget it,”  _ Polly said.  _ “Get a grip and get up!” _

A long, dark limb swiped at them from behind. Polly ducked and rolled to the side, while Yang was too flat to the floor to get hit. There was a terrible noise from the creature standing over them. It moaned emptily, the sound of the last breath of a person escaping their lifeless corpse. It didn’t make a noise, however, when Polly swiped with her blade at one of its extended hands. The sharps tip caught one of its fingers, severing it at the knuckle, and yet the man-shaped beast simply stared at her as though she were another blade of grass in a field of green. It loped towards her slowly, and a drop of dark liquid dripped from its mouth. Even still, the girl did not relent.

Yang found herself on her feet. There was someone’s blood on her left hand’s fingers. There was no wind inside, but she swayed as though she were by the sea. It was difficult to tell which was spinning— the room, or herself. Something landed beside her. Her mind reacted as if it were on a delay. Her eyes traced the object, until she saw the black of one of the creature's arms laying a few feet beside her. It was twitching slightly, still, even separated from its owner's body. In front of her, the creature didn’t seem altogether bothered by the loss. It swung another arm towards Polly, who rolled beneath it with ease. As she dodged, though, one of the Grimm’s legs kicked forward from the other way straight at her. There was enough time to block, but not to move. Bracing her sword against her arm, she took the blow as it collided with her weapon. The monster’s arm came back around, swinging downward from up above. Again, she threw her weapon over her head and blocked. It pushed against her, trapping her in place beneath it. There was the faintest shake in her arms underneath the stress. She pressed up with her weapon as hard as she could, keeping herself from being pressured to the floor. 

She had the will to throw a single glance towards Yang, the grind of her teeth nearly audible from way over there. After that, her focus was on the creature. Even the faintest slip-up and she would be crushed beneath the force. Yang didn’t know what was happening. She stumbled forward, hardly aware of which direction she was moving in. Something nearly tripped her. She looked down, searching for it in her daze. It was a head. Vomit welled inside her. It nearly came out, too, until she recognized something about the head.

It had red hair.

It wasn’t Ruby, of course. It wasn’t anyone she knew at all. Odds were the hair was simply stained red by all the blood. The face was nothing like her sisters— it was much older, and it didn’t have her eyes. Even the hair was too long to be Ruby’s. But still.

It had red hair.

So Yang caught on fire.

All it took was one hit. Just one. She wasn’t sure when she started to run or when she stopped. She wasn’t sure where she hit the creature, or how many times. But it was dead on the first. It exploded against the wall, black dust disappearing into the thin air around them. After a while, Yang realized she was on her hands and knees. A green and yellow pool of liquid stared back up at her. She had vomited after all. Polly was standing beside her. A hand was outstretched towards her. Dizzy, she accepted the offer. Hanging onto the shorter woman for support, she stumbled her way out of the room and into the next. The door shut behind her, Polly’s heel making a distinct knocking noise as it kicked the metal corner. Yang found her way over to a desk of some kind. She practically fell into it, leaning over and breathing heavily. Only when it was gone, did she realize how awful the smell was. The fresh air made her queasy, and she vomited again. Slowly, her senses began to return until all that was left from before was a disgusted uneasiness. Looking up, she gathered her surroundings in. It was some kind of communications room, with large windows overlooking the docks. There were still a few boats, bobbing in the harbor idly. The ocean ahead seemed drained of color, nearly black beneath the gray skies above.

Polly was standing a few feet away, staring at the corner of the room.

“Polly…”

Polly simply hissed and put a hand up. Her ears were perked, listening intently. Only then did Yang become aware that they were not yet alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is, longest chapter yet. By a pretty wide margin, too. And with it, the end of Part 1. Hopefully Part 2 will start sooner rather than later.
> 
> Also, one other thing I'd like to add is just that I've changed/added some tags to the fic. Most of them are minor things that will probably go unnoticed, but one in particular will probably draw some attention. At the risk of telling what is technically a spoiler, I'll just say this right now: This is not going to ever become a Bumblebee fic. I decided to add the Yang/Blake relationship tag because I decided that, based on the implications of their past and based on Blake's explicit desires, the tag was warranted. This fic revolves around the relationships between characters, romantic and non-romantic. Yang and Blake is one of the most important ones, especially later, and so I think it's relevant enough to include the tag. So yeah.
> 
> Anyways, the tags change nothing about the story itself- my plans are the same. So as always, I hope you enjoy the latest chapter, and I look forward to uploading the next one.


	17. Trust Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Part Two, at last. Hopefully, it's been worth the wait.

Part Two: Anima and Animus

_ “You will not survive here. You are not a wolf, and this is a land of wolves now.” _

 

**XVII**

**_Trust Me_ **

— — —  

_ “Do you ever get used to it? The killing…” _

_ “Faster than you can imagine.” _

_ — — — _

They didn’t have even a second to catch their breath.

A quiet breathing was audible from across the room. It seemed to be coming from the closet opposite them. The two readied their weapons again. They approached carefully, while Yang internally prepared herself for more of the worst. Just as before, Polly reached her hand forward, wrapped it around the doorknob, and pulled gently. Then, with a yank, it flew open and the two stepped forward.

They were met by the  _ bang  _ of a gunshot, followed by screaming. Polly lunged forward, knocking the pistol from the assailant’s hand and grabbing them by the collar. She slammed them against the wall of the closet and they screamed again.

“Please!” It was a woman’s voice. “Please, don’t hurt me! I’m sorry!”

She was young, maybe only a year or two older than Yang and Polly. She was wearing a worker’s uniform, the same as the bodies in the room before— only hers was in far better condition. Save for a single splash of blood, she seemed relatively unscathed.

But that didn’t mean she was unharmed.

Her skin was emptied of all color, pale and marred by goosebumps. She shook like a rattle, and her face looked like it had seen death itself. Maybe it had.

“Please, I didn’t mean it!” She cried again. There were already tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Polly,” Yang stepped forward. “She’s scared.”

Polly glanced at Yang. She stopped brandishing her weapon, but she didn’t let go.

“P-please, don’t hurt me…” Her eyes were shut tight.

“It’s alright,” Yang took another step closer to her. “We’re not gonna do anything to you.”

The woman didn’t answer. She was in hysterics.

“Listen, nothing’s gonna happen to you,” Yang tried to reassure. “Nothing’s gonna hurt you. What happened here?”

The woman just wailed helplessly. Polly smacked her across the face, trying to pull her from her breakdown.

“Polly!” Yang grabbed her wrist.

Polly glared at Yang and yanked her wrist free, but lowered her hand.

“Look, I know you’re scared,” Yang said softly. “But it’s gone. We killed it. It’s not gonna hurt you anymore.”

“You… you killed it?” The woman looked up in disbelief. “H-how?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Yang shook her head. “It’s not coming back. Okay? Can you tell us what happened here?”

“I…” The woman struggled through her words, at first. “We were unloading a shipment… and then… that monster, it just… my friend, he was there, and… and then he was over there, and… and his leg, and…”

“It’s okay,” Yang said. “Just slow down.”

“And it was on the other side, so we ran in here, but it…” she could barely speak through her hiccups and tears. “It followed, and some of them, they blocked the door, and they ran, and… and I hid, and…”

She was breaking down again. Streaks of tears marked her face, and she was starting to bawl again. 

Polly shook her aggressively.

“I’m sorry, please!” The woman cried.

“Polly! Stop!” Yang grabbed her shoulder. 

Polly snarled at Yang, but she stopped.

“Look, it’s okay,” Yang said to the woman. “The Grimm— do you know where it came from?”

“N-no,” she coughed.

“It just attacked?”

“Y-yes,” she nodded. “Normally they don’t come here, but it… and our guards, they couldn’t do anything to it…”

“It’s alright,” Yang encouraged. “Did anyone else survive?”

“M-maybe…” the woman nodded after a while. “Some of them ran, they… they locked the door behind them, to get away…”

“It’s okay,” Yang said. “You’re safe now.”

The woman slowly began to calm. Looking up at them, she stared questioningly.

“Who…” she started. “Who are you?”

“We’re just passing through,” Yang said. “We need a boat to Anima.”

“Wh… why here?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Yang said. “We just need a boat East. Hey, what’s your name?”

“M… Meeka,” the woman said.

“Okay, Meeka— What is it you do here?”

“I’m… I just help the boats dock.”

“Okay,” Yang nodded. “Do you know how to sail a ship?”

“Y-yeah, a bit…”

“Do you think that you could take us across to Anima?”

Meeka’s eyes widened. 

“Wh-what, me?!” She shouted anxiously. “N-no, I never— I never sailed that far, and I— I’m not going out there, when those things, they— what if there’re more?!”

Polly rolled her eyes. She grabbed Meeka’s collar with both hands and slammed her against the way. Looking right at her face, she stared into her eyes threateningly. Meeka stared back, petrified by fear.

“Polly!” Yang grabbed Polly again and pulled her away. “Stop it! She’s scared, just leave her be!”

Polly growled.

_ “We need her to do what we say,”  _ she signed.

“I’ll handle it,” Yang spat. “Just go watch out for more Grimm, or something.”

The air hung heavily, if only for a moment. Yang’s mind was still uneven, after seeing that scene behind them. The only thing tying her focus back down to what was right in front of her was the fear in the woman’s eyes— fear you could read, as plain as words on a page. But not everything she could see was quite so clear. Some things— some people— were less obvious. Polly, for one. The aggression, right now. The way that she had seemed so unbothered, unafflicted by the mess that they’d passed through— it made Yang wonder. It made her think of some of the things Polly had said before. About what she’s done. About what she’s going to do. The mental conflict of Yang’s recent… revelation, certainly didn’t help her. Part of her wanted Polly to change her outfit up, again. That was the guilty part of her. Another part was too turned on by it to care. That was the part of that she wasn’t so proud of. But in this moment, she wasn’t thinking about that. In this moment, that particular breath of silence, Yang was quite uncertain. More than uncertain. She was anxious— actively anxious— of what the shorter girl might do. Of how she might react.

But it was, after all, only for a moment. With a huff, Polly let go and turned, slinking away and staring out the windows on the opposite end of the room. Eventually, Yang drew her attention back to Meeka.

“Please, don’t hurt me,” Meeka was on the verge of tears. “I can’t— I can’t go out there again, please— don’t make me, please…”

“It’s okay,” Yang gripped her shoulders gently, trying to calm her. “We won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.”

“Then I won’t—”

“But listen to me, first,” Yang said. “Please?”

Meeka just stared at her, unresponsive.

“I know you’re afraid,” Yang said. “But nothing will hurt you. Not when we’re with you. I’ll make sure of that.”

“But you don’t—”

“But do you really think you’re safer here?” Yang interrupted. “Where do you plan on going? You said it yourself, there might be more of them out there. Who knows how many. What we do know, is that we’re going East. The safest place for you is with us, right now.”

A cold shiver ran through Meeka, and she glanced back between Yang and Polly.

“And sure,” Yang continued. “Maybe you could find someone else to help you, but who? How long have you been waiting here?”

“I— don’t know, I…”

“Do you really want to keep waiting here? Do you think a closet door and that peashooter are gonna protect you, if more of those things show up?”

“I…”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I won’t make you,” Yang smiled gently. “But trust me. The safest place is with us, and we’re going across the water. With or without you.”

“I…” Meeka seemed to gather her thoughts. Hesitantly, she looked up. “Alright. I’ll… I’ll come.”

The shake was still in her, but Meeka did her best to come forward and stand up straight.

“Great,” Yang smiled. “Now let’s get sailing, shall we?”

 

— — — 

 

The waves crashed against the shore with a monotonous tune. In, out, in, out. Back and forth, up the rocky beach and back down again, receding from whence it came. It was nearly high tide. Yang would have felt either worried or gratified if she knew anything about boats. But she didn’t, so instead she was left in that awful limbo of slightly worried uncertainty. It was a feeling she’d gotten used to lately. Very recently, in fact. Before the past few months, actually, she very rarely felt like this. Going with the flow used to be her ways. She would do it any time, any day, any place. It didn’t matter what happened next, she would just be sure to enjoy the moment. It used to feel easy, to be ready for anything. Not so much, anymore. Part of her wished she could go back to that.

Another part of her wasn’t so sure. She wasn’t sure if she used to feel that way because that’s just how she was— or if because that was the only way she could ignore her problems.

“Th-this one, here—” Meeka stopped and pointed at a boat.

It was bobbing up and down in the water just beside the dock, rocking back and forth just a bit more intense than gently.

“You sure?” Yang asked. “Seems pretty small, to me.”

And small it was. It was barely twice the length of a regular skiff, and only a few times taller. It looked barely more than something you’d take fishing in a lake— not something you’d take across the sea to another continent. The blue-green paint was peeling, slightly, around the bottom. Or maybe the paint was supposed to be just blue. At the back, there was a fairly large motor with a propellor slicing through the currents. Just above that was the dark brown lettering, displaying the name of the vessel—  _ The Green Ant. _

So Yang guessed the paint was probably supposed to be green, then.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” Meeka nodded. “It’s tougher than it looks.”

She led them down the dock. Yang had noticed how jumpy the woman was still being. More than every now and again, she would throw a glance back their ways. When they reached the ladder to the boat, she stopped and let them climb first. Or she tried, at least. Yang climbed up first, but when Polly stepped up she just stopped and stared at Meeka. It only took a few moments for Meeka to look away and hurry up the ladder, after that.

“How big is this thing?” Yang turned.

“About 25 feet, bow to stern,” Meeka answered.

“How deep?”

“The lower cabin is just shy of 7 feet.”

“Okay,” Yang said, still not quite convinced. “I guess I’ll trust the expert here.”

Meeka looked like she was going to say something, but then swallowed the words. Turning, she gestured for Yang to follow her into the top cabin.

“Here,” she said. “Lend me a hand with something.”

Yang nodded and started to follow. Polly moved passed them and through a look back at Yang.

_ “I’ll check downstairs,”  _ she signed.

“Sure,” she said, then followed Meeka.

The top cabin was small, and mostly open in the back. There was a thin windshield in front, just in front of the steering wheel. It was pretty messy, inside. There were several fishing kits and various tools that Yang didn’t particularly recognize. There was also an inexplicable lack of life jackets, but Yang wasn’t paying enough attention to really notice. In all, it looked like the boat hadn’t been cleaned in a few months, much less taken out onto the water.

“So what do you need?”

Meeka pointed towards the steering wheel.

“Just stand there for a moment, I need to check something,” she said.

“Alright,” Yang shrugged.

Beside her, Meeka waited at a small shelf. It was covered with an assortment of things, from fishing rods to medical kits to a fire extinguisher. There was also a long buckshot rifle that was stored in a glass container. Yang reached the steering wheel and stopped. Behind her, Meeka reached into the shelf and started going through things. Yang saw her take out a compass of some kind, and then got bored and turned to stare out the front. The water looked so peaceful, way out in front. Just some distant land of pure blue, waving gently back at her. It was distinctly calming, even if she wasn’t fond of the salty dull gray sky that hung overhead. The salty smell in the air reminded her of better days, and better beaches. 

“So, what do you need—” Yang started, still staring forward.

“I won’t go,” Meeka’s voice rang out, shaky and unstable, behind her. “I’m sorry, I won’t.”

Yang barely had enough time to start turning. Right after the ringing of Meeka’s voice, came a ringing in Yang’s ears. Somewhere in between, there was a click and a bang. A hard force slammed into Yang’s waist and hip, from her left side. Her aura didn’t have enough time to fully activate, so she took more of the hit than was probably good for her health. She felt herself stumble, without enough time to stop turning. When Meeka came into her view, Yang was falling backward. The wheel crashed into her back as she dropped, and she fought to understand the image before her. Meeka was standing a few feet away from her, holding the rifle in both hands. There was a faint trail of smoke from the barrel, still pointed at Yang. Behind the rifle, Meeka’s face was contorted in fear, pain, and sadness. Tears were dripping from her cheeks. 

“Wh…” Yang couldn’t find her words.

She blinked, and for a moment she thought she’d fainted. The boat was spinning. It was tough to tell what was making it bob up and down more— the water, or Yang’s head. It was hard to keep her eyes open. In her daze, she blinked again. The dizzy world came back, but the image had changed.

Meeka wasn’t standing in front of her, anymore. She was dangling. Her feet were a few inches from the ground. There was a twitch in her toes. Only now did Yang notice she was barefoot. Beneath her feet was a pool of red. Blood, probably. The rifle was on the floor nearby. There was another set of feet, behind Meeka’s. The blood was spreading. It drew nearer to the other set. There were wearing boots. They were attached to a woman. Yang thought it was her mother, at first. Then she realized the woman was too short. Polly. She was standing there, holding her stiletto blade up. It was pierced straight through Meeka’s chest. Polly’s face was deathly serious. Meeka’s was deathly afraid. A quiet gurgle came from her throat, and she whimpered. Clawing, she reached weakly for her chest. Her fingers gripped the tip of her own murder weapon loosely. Then they dropped, and her face wasn’t afraid anymore. Just empty.

There was enough time to see the life escape Meeka’s eyes. Then Yang blinked once more. This time, she fainted.

 

— — — 

 

When Yang began to stir, she was quiet enough that Neo nearly didn’t hear her moving behind her. But only nearly. She tossed a glance back her way and saw the blonde struggling into a sitting position. The sun was shining in Yang’s eyes, so she had a hand over her face. She was squinting so hard that you’d probably mistake her eyes for shut. But Neo could tell they were open. There was a thin sliver of lavender visible between the cracks. Neo turned back to face the waters ahead. The soft currents seemed to blow by like hurricane winds beneath them, as the boat tore along the face of the sea. For such a run-down piece of trash, the boat sure could move. And that was good enough. Good enough for her to put up with the unsettling groans and clicks of the motors and engines. 

Yang gave a grunt that seemed to match with the noises of the boat beneath them.

“Wha…” She sat up, looking around. “Where…”

Neo glanced back at her again. Yang was still a bit dazed, but she looked like she was slowly getting her bearings. It was taking a moment to gather in her surroundings, but at least she seemed mostly stable. Neo didn’t need her shutting down again, like back in that warehouse.

“Are we on the ocean?”

Neo nodded.

“But…” Yang looked down, like she was trying to remember. “What happened…”

Slowly, she looked up. Markings of recall were growing along her expression, until it was clear that her memories had returned to her.

“You killed her,” Yang said. It was more matter of fact than accusatory, but Neo knew well enough to know that that didn’t mean there was  _ no  _ accusatory.

_ “She shot you,”  _ Neo replied.

“Yeah, but you  _ killed  _ her.”

Neo stared blankly at her.

_ “And she would’ve killed you.” _

Yang bit her tongue. She looked like she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. Instead, she lowered her gaze, staring at the wooden boards of the floor. Maybe she wasn’t quite as stable after all. Not that Neo really knew what to do about that, of course.

After a while, Yang managed to look up again.

“How could you just kill her so easily?”

_ “Because I had to,”  _ Neo rolled her eyes. 

“No, I don’t mean why…” Yang looked like she was trying to understand what she was asking, herself. “I mean… how? How do you bring yourself to do that?”

_ “I just can,”  _ Neo replied.  _ “I just do.” _

Yang looked down, obviously unsatisfied by the answer. 

“How many people have you killed?”

Neo shrugged.

_ “Don’t remember.” _

“How do you forget something like that?” Yang asked. Neo couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t sound angry, or upset. Not quite curious, but… close to it.

_ “You just do,”  _ Neo said.  _ “You just get used to it. You don’t think about it much.” _

Yang nodded slowly. Then she shook her head.

“I don’t think I could ever get used to that.”

_ “You’d be surprised,”  _ Neo signed back.  _ “It’s easier than you think.” _

Yang looked up at her. She stared into her eyes, for a little while. They held each other in their gazes, for a while. Yang stared intently like she was trying to figure something out. Like she was trying to read her. Neo stared back flatly. She looked like she was trying her best to show as little as possible. To be as distant as possible.

“Polly,” Yang said after a while. “Who are you?”

Neo looked back to the waters ahead. She didn’t answer. She nearly shrugged. But then that didn’t seem like the appropriate answer. She wasn’t sure if Yang noticed her start to do it.

The sun shone down on Yang brilliantly, as she stared back expectantly. Then she sighed and started to stand. There was some wobble in her steps at first, then she regained her balance. Luckily, it seemed like she was recovering from the shot quickly. Quickly enough.

“How long was I out for?”

Neo exhaled gently.

_ “Just a night.” _

Yang nodded, then looked around. She furrowed her brow.

“How do you know how to drive a boat?” She asked suddenly.

Lifting her hand lazily, Neo gestured to the table nearby. It was still a mess, but laying open on top of the junk was a paper book of some sort. Its pale white pages were covered in small dark text, with images and diagrams in black and white. It looked like a boat manual of some kind.

“You read a manual?” Yang looked up at her.

_ “It was easier than it looked,”  _ Neo said.

Yang looked out over the ocean. The humming of the engines was still overplayed by the loud clacking and moaning of the motors. It looked like Yang was just noticed them, right now.

“Will this thing get us all the way across?” She asked, uncertainty spreading over her face.

_ “We’ll see,”  _ Neo answered.

That did nothing to drain the uncertainty.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Yang asked. “I mean, do you know if this is the right way?”

Neo just pointed across to the horizon. The sun was glowing a golden-orange through the clouds.

_ “Sun rises in the east.” _

The clouds moved slowly across the sky. A salty wind blew across them briefly, blowing some of Neo’s hair to the side. The taste of the ocean seemed ever-present, during the past few hours. Behind her, some of Yang’s hair blew into the blonde’s eyes. As she brushed it back, she noticed her hair wasn’t tied back in a ponytail anymore. Neo watched her as she felt her hair. It looked like she was going to tie it back again, but then she didn’t. Instead, Yang dropped her hands to her waist and let her hair flutter gently in the winds until they calmed again. 

“How much further do you think we need to go?” Yang asked.

_ “Not sure,”  _ Neo said.  _ “Few days, at least. If we’re lucky, we’ll beat the storm.” _

Yang looked across the horizon with Neo. They stared at the sky beneath the rising sun. There were clouds, but no storm was visible quite yet. 

“Yeah,” Yang nodded. “Maybe we’ll be lucky, for once.”

They were not.

 

— — — 

 

At the very least, the storm hadn’t hit them yet. The winds had picked up a bit, but that could be chalked up to simple ocean winds. But the sea certainly wasn’t very calm. Not at the moment. Currents crashed against the boat with an aggressive force. The vessel rocked atop the waves, back and forth, over and over. But none of those things were particularly the problem, right now. No, there were some more worrisome matters to attend to. The consequences of which would certainly be far more dire.

The first few days had been relatively smooth. Which was nice. It gave them a chance to rest. A welcome break from the horrors they’d just come from. Yang was grateful for the chance to unwind. Thankfully, she’d recovered from her wound fairly quickly. It would’ve been hard, having to lay around waiting to heal, after fighting so hard to escape that. Polly had seemed relatively unaffected by the aforementioned horrors, though. So Yang wasn’t sure if her partner was sharing the same sentiment as herself. That was rough. As nice as the relaxing trip across the ocean was, a lot of it Yang had spent thinking about Polly.

They had walked into something out of a nightmare. All those people… dead. Dead in the worst ways Yang could imagine. Dead in ways that made Yang queasy just thinking about. And Polly had been untouched. She barely even flinched. Actually, Yang would be more surprised if it turned out Polly  _ had  _ flinched. Isn’t that odd? And Meeka… Yang understood that sometimes hard choices needed to be made. She wasn’t a child. She wasn’t naive, at least not as much as her little sister was. There were things in the real world that were harsh. Yang had long since accepted that. One of her first encounters with the Grimm— when her uncle Qrow had come to rescue her and Ruby— had been an awakening for her. It had shown her a lot about the world. Searching for her mother had taught her a lot, actually. But still…

Yang had never seen someone kill so remorselessly. Much less someone she had at least a moderate amount of trust in. Although that had been wavering, as of late… Regardless. Yang knew that maybe Polly had to do it. She understood that. As much as it pained her, sometimes, she supposed that killing is the safest, fastest solution. It was something she would try to never resort to, but she also couldn’t necessarily hold against Polly. Not this time, at least. But Polly had killed before. No one she knew, but she’d done it. She’d admitted as much. And she didn’t even really react when she did it. That’s not normal. It can’t be. Right?

Yang wasn’t sure what to think, anymore.

But anyway.

Back to the action.

Back to the dark, black tentacles wrapped around the bow of the boat, pulling it slowly into a nosedive into the deep blue void below. Polly was in the cabin, pulling the wheel and trying every boating trick she’d learned over the past single week (read: not many) to keep afloat. Meanwhile, Yang stood on the front of the boat, struggling with three of the tentacles that had diverted their attention to her. That was her plan, of course, but it seems she should’ve thought it through more. Seven tentacles were still wrapped around the boat tight, and three was nearly more than she could take at once. So the situation hadn’t improved much.

One of the tentacles wrapped around her metal arm and began to pull. She fired off her gauntlet and tore it free, ripping part of the tentacle off with it. It wasn’t deterred, though. It lunged at her, forcing her to grab it and try and keep it in place. One of the other ones lashed at her, and she swung at it. She played boxing between it and her left arm, punching and thrusting back and forth, both trying to push the other back. The third tentacle swooped low, flying forward and wrapping around her calf. It took all her strength to keep herself planted on the ground, and then some. Strength that was draining fast. She felt her leg slowly be pulled upwards, and she stomped back downwards with it. Her heel landed on part of the tentacle. She twisted it, trying her best to grind the fibers to a pulp. 

Apparently she was doing a bit too good of a job at being a distraction. 

A fourth tentacle let go of the front and flew towards her. It was just high enough for her to duck, but then it came back around. Using her free hand, she blocked the blow. Of course, that left a tentacle unguarded. It swiped, wrapping itself around her neck. She has just enough time to jam her good arm in between, barely stopping herself from choking. Its grasp tightened, and she felt like her wrist was gonna crack. Just as she felt herself pushed to the precipice of her resistance, a black and red blur swooped in. Several slashes and some horrid sloshing noises, and she was free again. Polly was standing beside her, her sword brandished, and the four tentacles were laying on the boat floor— severed and flopping about.

“Thanks for that,” Yang said, straightening out.

_ “Not yet,”  _ she said, nodding to the bow of the boat. It was nearly completely submerged, and water was starting to pour in right before them. Not to mention the ever-growing slant of the floor that was making it hard to stay on their feet.

“Right,” Yang said, reloading her gauntlets. “Let’s finish it.”

Polly nodded simply. She took to the right, so Yang took to the left. They dashed forward, Yang launching blasts along the way. Slicing and tearing their way through, they removed the tentacles one by one. Surprisingly easily, actually. Yang thought they might’ve actually caught a break, for once, until she lost her balance and slammed face-first onto the deck.

Too little too late.

The last two tentacles remained, and just two were enough. The boat was nearly ninety degrees from the water. Yang had started to slide, but she caught herself on the rim. Above her, she saw Polly standing on the front wall of the boat, back pressed against the floor tightly. Even if they killed the Grimm, they might lose the boat anyway. 

Yang had to act now. 

She looked down, and laid eyes on the creature below. It was an large, dark beast with a bony-white spiral shell on its back. Bright red eyes were hidden partially beneath it. Its half-severed tentacles thrashed about helplessly, while the two remaining ones held the boat tightly and continued to pull it downward. Facing up at them was its bottom, where its horrible mouth resided. A deep, black hole, with rows and rows of jagged white teeth circling and undulating like some sort of monstrous whirlpool. 

It was damn ugly.

Yang looked up at Polly, who was getting closer and closer to having nothing to stand on.

“Hang on!”

Polly didn’t have much to say. She probably couldn’t say anything at all, actually. Her hands were too occupied with hanging onto the sides.

Yang looked down at the Grimm again. She bit her lip and swallowed.

“Fuck me…”

She pulled herself up, so she was nearly upside down. Pressing her boots into the boat behind her, she held on with one hand and put the other behind her. Her gauntlets readied.

First, she let out a deep breath. Next, she screamed.

Using her gauntlets to propel herself further, she kicked off the boat and launched downwards. Half soaring, half falling, she hurtled towards the monster's maw and threw her fist in front of herself. Letting the tentacles lash against her, she felt the heat of her aura growing, She felt further, further, further still, until she was entering the beast's mouth. Some of its teeth ground against her, but she had enough steam left to resist them. As her hair lit ablaze, she pushed everything she had into her fists in front of her. Down she went, straight into the Grimm’s gullet, through its disgusting innards, and out the other side. 

It took the monster a moment to realize it was dead.

As she fell out and into the water, she turned just in time to see it begin to fade. In the pale, weak skylight, the ocean was just illuminated enough for her to watch as it dissolved to nothing. It was almost beautiful to watch. She would’ve watched longer if she had the time.

But time wasn’t to be wasted, and she would run out of air eventually. So she kicked and pumped, swimming back to the water's surface. Breaking through, water splashed around her and steamed up over her bright hot hair. She waited a moment, then threw up a rather victorious fist.

“Yes!” She cried out. “That was badass!”

She laughed as she yelled. It felt silly, but she didn’t care. For the first time in a long time, she felt good. As horrible as that was, it was energizing. It made her feel strong. It felt like something she would’ve imagined doing when she was little. And it was the only time over the past few months she could remember having fun while fighting. Just like she used to.

“Polly, did you see that? That was—”

She turned, only to realize that maybe she was celebrating before the race was won.

The boat was completely capsized, and there holes throughout it. It sank slowly, falling into the water as she watched helplessly, treading water.

“Oh, fuck.”

She swam over, trying to get a closer look. Not that she needed one, of course. Even from over here she could tell it was a lost cause.

“Polly!” She called, realizing she couldn’t see her partner anywhere. “Polly, where are you?”

She swam around slowly for a few seconds.

“Polly, where’d you go?”

It was only then that she realized she should be worried.

“Polly! Polly!”

Urgency grew. She swam faster. She looked at the debris, at the top (or the bottom) of the boat, she swam around each side to check. Polly was nowhere to be seen. Then she began to turn her gaze downward. Maybe she was trapped on something. Maybe she could get loose. What if she was drowning? What if she’d already drowned? What if Yang couldn’t find her? What if Yang couldn’t save her?  
She swam faster, faster, faster. Around and around. She took a breath and ducked into the water. The depths were dark. Too dark to see. She looked around, struggling to keep her eyes open. The salt was starting to burn them. 

Then, a single ray of light. It shined perfectly between the clouds, just enough to illuminate the darkness. If only barely. And she saw her. Yang had just enough time to see Polly’s face before it started to sink, further into the darkness. There was a terror in her eyes that she’d never seen in her before. A terror she’d hardly seen anything akin to. The terror of someone who was more than just afraid to die.

Yang plunged deeper. As deep as she could go. The darkness returned. She couldn’t see anything. She just dove straight, right to where she had seen her fade away. She reached out randomly, trying to grasp something. Anything. Nothing. She could find nothing. Time was almost out. She was almost out of breath. And if she was almost out, Polly would certainly be out by now. She had to do something, anything at all. An act of desperation. One of her gauntlets armed, and she launched a shell. It flashed for only a moment before disappearing into the deep blue. But a moment was enough. She saw her. She pushed herself further, reached out as far as she could. Finally, she felt something. Her fingers wrapped around Polly’s pale, thin wrists. She held it tight and pulled, swimming straight up with everything she had left. The light above grew and grew until it was over them once more. And then it could grow no more as they broke through, and she gasped for air.

She found a piece of debris. A board, large enough to rest on. She threw Polly overtop of it. The girl hardly had any life left in her. She was cold, unmoving. Yang pulled her close. She locked her own lips with hers. It would’ve reminded her of the old days, if she could be bothered to think about that. About something so unimportant right now. She blew with all that she could. It was partly instinct. She’d worked as a lifeguard a few summers ago, just between school years at Signal. The training had never really gone away.

Suddenly, she felt Polly’s chest rise. She was still again for a moment. Then she coughed, and water flew from her mouth and her nose. The shorer girl sputtered, panting and struggling for air. Slowly she calmed down. Yang pulled her close and tight. She hugged her hard, harder than she probably should have. Considering Polly was still regaining her breath. But she didn’t care. Yang wasn’t alone. Polly was alive. That’s what was important.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Yang whispered.

Gradually, she loosened her hug and pulled away. Polly looked up at her. There was something in her eyes, once again, that Yang hadn’t seen in her much. There was a bit of gratitude. A nice thing to see. But there was something sadder in there. Something almost ashamed.

“Are you alright?” Yang said. “What happened?”

_ “Nothing, I just…”  _ She signed, then shrugged.  _ “Guess I can’t swim.” _

“Oh,” Yang said. That made sense. “You should’ve told me.”

_ “Didn’t think it would matter,”  _ she answered.

Part of Yang wanted to slap her. To her surprise, she laughed instead.

“We’re in the middle of the ocean!” She said between snorts.

Polly stared at her in silence for a moment. Then she slowly started to chuckle as well. Bit by bit, they both broke down until they were finally in hysterics, laughing uncontrollably as they floated along on a piece of what was essentially driftwood in the middle of the ocean.

_ “Yeah,”  _ Polly said, slowly coming down from her short-lived but intense giggling session.  _ “I guess that makes sense.” _

“Yeah, you guess,” Yang snorted, letting her own laughter die down as well.

Then they hung there for a little bit, just looking at each other. Even in the cold, salty water, Yang felt a soft warmth between them.

_ “So…”  _ Polly said after a while.  _ “Now what?” _

“Well,” Yang sighed. “Sun rises in the east, right? I guess we paddle east.”

_ “Right, but…”  _ She thought for a moment.  _ “How?” _

“Hang on, I’ll teach you,” Yang nodded, putting herself in a good position to push. “Guess it’s best to learn in the deep end…”

 

— — — 

 

The swim was longer than she would have hoped, but they made it. Eventually.

They washed up on the shore, dim starlight shining down over them. The sand stuck to Neo’s skin, and the taste of salt wouldn’t leave her tongue. The moment they hit land, she collapsed onto her back and stared up at the sky. Her legs felt like jelly. Turned out that swimming was a lot harder on your legs than she expected. The soft sound of her breath was timed nearly perfectly with the sound of the tides washing in and out, advancing and receding along the shore. The cool water licked the wrinkled, pruned soles of her feet. She could feel the rise and fall of her chest, nearly lulling herself to sleep with her own inhale and exhale. When she felt her eyelids begin to droop, she dropped her head to her right. There was a mess of wet, golden hair in the sand beside her. Yang was staring over the night horizon. Neo could see the moon in her pupils.

Yang turned and looked down at her. A soft smile was spread over her face. There was a sound of quiet movement in the sand, and then Neo felt Yang’s fingers wrap gently around her arm. She tried her best to keep her eyes open, but it was a struggle. They felt heavy, and the sand felt so soft.

“Go ahead,” Yang whispered. “I’ll stay awake.”

A yawn stopped Neo from responding. Next, she resorted to trying to shake her head. At first, she thought she did, but then she realized that she hadn’t moved at all. The dark sky began to mix with the blackness of her closed eyes. They would flutter back open for half a second or so and then fall back shut once more until the beach was gone and there were stars behind her eyelids as well.

 

— — — 

 

The next thing Neo knew, she was laying on something firm. Not something entirely uncomfortable, but not particularly comfortable either. It was hard, but cushioned. Like a thin leather pillow laying across a hard surface. When her eyes opened, she was met with a thin metal roof staring down at her. To one side— her left— was a clear glass wall. The part nearest her head was blocked by something, preventing her from seeing the other side. Closer to her feet it was open, but the angle obscured everything but a small view of some trees. Green pines, unmoving in the still air. The sky was still dark overhead, but not quite as much. There was a tinge of dark blue, like the short time before dawn. 

Neo’s ears twitched. There were people talking. Their voices were coming from the opposite side of the glass wall. She pushed herself up slowly. To her right was a small road. It seemed like she was sitting in some old bus stop of some kind. She turned to her left again. There was the face of a woman staring right back at her. She had pursed lips, bright red and glossy. Her skin was shiny and perfect, and her styled silver hair seemed alive and yet perfectly still. There was a single black beauty mark beneath her left eye. The only noticeable mar on her skin was a long, thin tear that passed through her right hip. A rip in the poster. Neo could see the other side of the bus stop shelter through the tear. A person stood visible through it, just too tall to see their face. 

Neo leaned forward, and the voices slowly began to become clearer. She recognized one of them.

“I said back off,” Yang was speaking through her teeth. “I’m not saying it again.”

“Yeah, you already said that,” a man’s voice, rough and ratty, responded. “All bark and no bite, huh?”

“I’m warning you—”

“How many times you gonna warn us, then?” Another man’s voice could be heard. It was lower-pitched and a bit quieter.

Neo leaned forward. She could see them through the glass from there. Yang stood alone, half encircled by three men. Two of them had short, messy hair. The third was bald and clean-shaven. He was the one Yang was staring at.

“Sounds to me like you got nothing to back those up,” the bald man said. His voice was the second man’s she’d heard before. “Sounds like you’re nothing but a scared little girl.”

Neo heard a click. The gauntlets on Yang’s wrist locked into their armed position.

“Sounds to me like someone needs to teach you some manners,” Yang growled.

Neo dropped her feet on the ground. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her weapon. A lock of her hair flashed through her peripheral. Still black. She pushed off the bench, regaining her balance quickly.

“Tell you what—” The bald man was speaking again. “You walk away from your little friend over there, and maybe—”

He was cut off by the sound of recoil. 

“Fuck!” He cried out in pain. 

Neo wrapped around the side of the shelter in time to see Yang throw her second punch. Her left fist crashed into one of the other man’s gut, another blast firing off from his gauntlet. He was launched into the trees off to the right. The third guy swung with a long, blunt metal weapon of some kind. Yang ducked under and uppercut him in the lower right with her right. Swiveling, she swung her left arm and he caught an elbow to the jaw. The bald man broke from his daze and stepped forward. He grabbed her right arm before she could follow up. Throwing a red-eyed glance at him, she fired her right gauntlet, ripping her arm backward and making him stumble. Still, he maintained his grip. Kicking forward, she kneed him in the stomach twice, then pulled him into a two-handed grapple around his neck. His back was to her chest, and she kicked the back of his knee to throw his balance. Pulling backwards, she flung him back into the dirt over her head. 

Neo was caught off guard. That looked like something  _ she  _ would’ve done, not a move she’d expected from Yang. A smarter move than she’d expected from the blonde. Maybe Yang had been picking up some things from her after all. Meanwhile, Yang rolled to her feet again to face the other man still standing. In her anger, however, she didn’t notice the man climbing to his feet in the bushes. Neo would’ve caught him normally, but she was too focused on watching. He charged out of the trees, moving quickly and keeping his mouth shut. Before Neo could react, he blew past and tackled Yang from behind. They both hit the ground, and the other haired man ran forward to pounce atop both of them.

Neo snapped out of it and charged. She lowered her shoulder into the man still standing and launched him into the dirt head first. He collapsed, unconscious. Neo drew her weapon and turned to slash at the man on Yang’s back. But before she moved, the bald man was on his feet behind her. He grabbed Neo by the back of the neck and hurled her backwards. She rolled in the mud, catching herself and landed on her feet. And fingertips. 

“Little one what’s to play too, huh?” The bald man shouted at her.

Neo growled at him. He pulled a long, curved knife out and put his arms wide, outward. Snarling, Neo dashed at him. Even as he grinned, she didn’t hesitate. He was in over his head, and she knew it. Soon enough, he would know it too. When she was within his range, he swiped at her with his knife. Some dirt kicked up beneath her and she slid underneath. Two quick strikes to his hip threw him off balance. He tried to spin and slash again, but she parried easily and let out a quick, precise combination of slices and stabs on his chest. He stumbled back, and she kept up the offensive. Fast blows, one after the other, circled around him and whittled his aura down bit by bit. He was able to swing his arms at her, but she simply rolled backward and out of the way before rushing forward again. The space it created between them was just enough for him to aim and hurl his knife in her direction. She dodged through the air, letting the knife slice through the wind a few inches from her. A near miss.

Not near enough.

She landed on both legs and one palm, taking the time to look up and savor the fear in her now-disarmed prey. There wasn’t as much of it in his eyes as she’d expected. Not right now. There would be soon enough.

Then she felt something fall. Her gaze lowered. A small right in her shirt. Beneath it, laying in the grass— a single feather. She felt her eyes lock into place. A hand against her chest, against what was hidden in her clothes. Roman’s hat hung limply. A waterlogged strand dangled feebly. The rip was clean around the edge, distorting the shape. It was ruined.

She looked up in time to see a knee flying towards her face. Her arms came up in time, but she was still launched backwards. But she didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel any sensation, as she rose to her feet. There was heat inside. That was the only thing she felt. It started to rise, until it was at a boil. The bald man came forward and threw another strike. He was on his knees before he had time to blink. A daze was over him, and he seemed to drift back and forth in place. His eyes seemed almost glazed over as he looked up at her. Just in time to see another flurry of metal. Long, thin, sharp metal, spinning and thrusting and twisting and slashing. Anger, pain, disgust, sorrow— Neo unleashed anything and everything onto him. Everything she should have felt, she pushed outwards. He would suffer it all, and she would experience none of it. She forced it all onto to him, all at once, until he could stand no more and she wouldn’t have to carry it with her.

There was a soft sound— almost a hissing— when his aura shattered. That didn’t stop her. One after another, she ripped cuts and holes in his skin and his flesh. He was laying on his back now, and she was standing over him. The sharp end of her weapon was pointed down at him. It rose with his chest. When his chest came down, she began to bring down the blade as well.

Until a voice stopped her.

“Polly, stop!”

She froze in place.

He was laying in the dirt. There was blood all over him. A raspy breath slipped from his lips. His eyes were empty. There was only a faint tinge of life left in them.

She twisted around, and a growl escaped her. Yang was standing a few feet behind her. The two other men were laying on the ground, unconscious. A single hand— a metal one— was held out towards Neo. Yang was reaching forward slowly.

“Enough,” she said. “It’s not necessary.”

Neo looked back down at the man beneath her. He was so close. So nearly finished. All it would take is one swift movement— just a drop of her forearms. That’s all it would take, and he would be gone forever. And with him, the urges and emotions.

“Leave him!” Yang called to her. “Just let him go. You beat him.”

Neo could hear herself panting. She could feel it, too. The feeling started to come back to her fingers. They were tingling. Her hands were shaking. The sweat that had collected on her palms left them cold and sweat. It felt like her weapon might slide from her grasp. She nearly jumped when she felt fingers wrap over her shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” Yang said softly. “Relax. Just… calm down, Polly.”

There were still, for a while. Like a silent standoff, both waiting for the other to falter. Eventually, Neo felt herself begin to droop. Her limbs, her body— they felt weak and heavy. Yang pulled on her, and she gave in. She let herself follow under her grasp. They move away, drifting like on a cloud, and the ground beneath her moved in a blur. 

They were sitting on the bus stop bench again. Yang was holding her steady. Neo was staring at her without realizing it. 

“Hey,” Yang said. Neo wasn’t sure how many times she had said it by now. “You alright?”

Slowly, Neo allowed herself to nod.

“Okay,” Yang sighed quietly. “Just… slow down. Try to… keep in control, okay? Let go. Let the anger go.”

The irony was not lost on either of them.


	18. Old Wounds, New Scars

**XVIII**

**_Old Wounds, New Scars_ **

— — —  

_“I don't really care if you cry_

_On the real you should've never lied_

_Shoulda saw the way she looked me in my eyes_

_She said baby I am not afraid to die”_

_— — —_

The sound of metal along whetstone was indistinct to Sable, at this point. It was familiar, almost homely— easily recognized from even across the camp. But it was indistinct. You hear one thing in particular, over and over and over again, non-stop, day in and day out… well, you start to forget. Forget what it sounds like when it isn’t around. Too much noise and you’d forget the sound of silence.

There was a time when that was how she felt. Recent enough that she could remember it still, if only barely. The sound of metal along the walls— chains rattling against the harsh brick walls of the room. If you could call it a room. It didn’t even have a ceiling. The sun was always so bright, overhead. It made the sand floor that much hotter. And it made her skin forget what it felt like to not be red and burning. She had that northerner blood in her, so. It wasn’t like a fun sun-tan on the beach, trapped in that room all day long. It made her love the clouds. And the rain was something special entirely. The cool water falling from the dark, night sky— it only ever rained at night, in the heart of Vacuo— was like heaven on her hot, burnt, beaten skin. It was always so raw. It made the belts and the sticks hurt even more. The constant belts. The constant sticks. When she would throw herself over Opal, take the hits into her back— her scarred, burnt back. Opal was her little sister, after all. Younger, if only by a minute or so. She had always been softer. A lower pain tolerance, maybe. Not that she was weak. Neither of them would be. Not living like that. They wouldn’t have survived if they had been. Sable forgot what silence sounded like. She forgot what unburnt skin felt like. But she didn’t forget what it felt like to not hurt. No. She didn’t have those memories to forget.

Sable still hated the sun to this very day.

Thankfully, the hurt wasn’t so constant anymore. Not since they’d been broken out of that place. Since Raven had come for them.

“Sabe.” A soft, gentle voice called. Calm, soothing. One that gave her the urge to protect.

Sable looked up at her little sister.

“Your hook—” Opal nodded at Sable’s waist. 

“What about it?” Sable looked down. The chain dangled in its loop, still in the windless air. The hook that hung from the end looked deadly as ever.

“It’s a little dull,” Opal said. “I’m done sharpening mine, want me to do yours?”

Opal held up her own weapon. The same chain, the same pitch-black handle— only with orange accents, to match her style. A style that was virtually identical to Sable’s, just like their faces. Instead of black and purple, Opal just liked black and orange. And, instead of a hook, the end of Opal’s weapon was a sharp, curved scythe head. Sable had wanted one too, once. But Opal said she wanted it, so Sable let her have it. Because that’s what big sisters do. Not to mention, they needed to differentiate in every chance they got. The more differences, the fewer twin jokes people could make.

Not that they’d ever stop making them.

“Sure,” Sable said, realizing she was staring in silence for too long. She got caught up in her thoughts a lot. Opal understood, though. She did that too. “If you’re doing it already.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Opal smiled and held out her hand. 

Opal’s smile always caught Sable off guard. Partly because of how big it always was. Another part because of how common it was. What did Opal have to be so happy about, so often? Sable wasn’t happy very often. And if Sable didn’t have anything to be happy about, then Opal probably didn’t either.

“What’re you smiling at?” Sable said, handing her her weapon.

“Nothing,” Opal shrugged. “Just happy.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know,” Opal said. “Why shouldn’t I be? Would you rather I frowned?”

“I can think of a lot of reasons to frown,” Sable sighed.

“And I can think of a lot of reasons to smile,” Opal kept on beaming. “You should try it sometime. Maybe it’ll make you less angry.”

“Who says I’m angry?”

“Me,” Opal laughed. “And that dumb frown.”

“Maybe I’m sad,” Sable suggested.

“No,” Opal shook her head. “If you were sad, I’d be sad. I know you’re mad because I’m happy. That’s how you know things are normal.”

She wasn’t wrong. Happy Opal was an ordinary Opal. And ordinary meant Sable was in her resting emotions, most likely. That meant she was probably mad. She looked up. Opal was still smiling. It was a dumb, obnoxious smile. One that annoyed her. But it also was Opal. If anything ever made Opal frown, Sable would kill it. Because that’s just how things were.

She almost smirked at that. Almost.

Somewhere around sixteen years of life, and she’d wager she spent ninety percent of that frowning. Opal probably spent the same amount smiling.

Because that’s just how things were.

“How much longer are we waiting here for?” Sable groaned, after a while. 

“Until Raven gets back,” Opal said, dropping onto her cot with the whetstone and Sable’s weapon.

“It’s so… boring.”

“It’s not so bad,” Opal said.

“Yes, it is,” Sable rolled her eyes. “You know I had to travel _all_ the way to Vale just to talk to that old asshole, then come _all_ the way back just to sit around and wait?”

“At least you got to meet him,” Opal said. “I hardly remember uncle Qrow.”

“He’s not our uncle,” Sable said, her voice growing flat.

“He’s Raven’s brother,” Opal shrugged.

“So he’s not our uncle,” Sable repeated.

“That sounds kinda funny,” Opal said. “Coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sable furrowed her brow.

“I dunno,” Opal said, biting back a laugh and a smile. “You just always seem to cling to dear old mom.”

Sable sighed and looked away.

“You’re not getting to me,” she said after taking a few breaths. “Not today.”

“If you say so,” Opal said. “I’m a little serious, though. You’ve called her mom more times than me.”

“Doubt it,” Sable responded.

“Whatever you say,” Opal said, holding her sister’s weapon into the candlelight. The sharpened edge gleamed slightly, even in the dim glow.

Sable rolled her eyes, again. When she looked back, she saw Opal’s smile once again. Her little sister’s flamey orange eyes seemed to burn volcanically in their tent, almost bubbling and popping. The stormy purple of Sable’s own were alive, like deep violet clouds and lightning passing through them.

“She said she’d be back by the morning,” Opal said. “She had to check out that crash site. Vernal went with her.”

“I know all this,” Sable said. 

“Oh,” Opal said, growing slightly still for a moment. “I… forgot.”

Sable looked down. There was a grim look on her face. She didn’t bother trying to hide it.

“They’re getting worse, aren’t they?”

“A little,” Opal nodded.

“Mine usually get worse when I haven’t fought in a while,” Sable said. 

“Mine usually get worse when I’m fighting.”

“So then we should be worried,” Sabled bit her lip. “Cause you’re not.”

“No, it’ll be okay,” Opal answered calmly. “Raven has a plan. She told me.”

“I think I should be worried,” Sable said darkly.

“No, really,” Opal shook her head. “I’m alright.”

“What if next time it’s even worse?”

“Then we’ll deal with it.”

“What if we can’t?” Sable grit her teeth. “What if you forget something important? What if you forget something, and you can’t remember it?”

“That won’t happen,” Opal shook her head again. “Or if it does, we’ll figure it out.”

“And if we don’t?” Sable gripped the side of her cot tightly.

“We will,” Opal stood and walked over.

She handed Sable her weapon, then put her hand on her shoulder. Gently, Opal gripped her twin and massaged lightly.

“You worry too much, Sabe,” Opal said.

After a while, Sable sighed.

“Maybe,” she nodded.

It had been a while since she’d been in a fight. She should go out and train with someone. Spar a few rounds with a couple of the tribe members. Help make sure she remembered. If her sister was forgetting more, then she had to make sure she remembered.

Sometimes she forgot what it felt like to remember.

“But that’s what big sisters do.”

 

— — — 

 

The fire crackled softly in front of both of them, warmth radiating and drawing them in close. Yang was beside Neo, maybe ten inches of space separating them, providing Neo with another source of heat in the chilled night. They had just escaped the cold hell of the last blizzard, only to travel straight into the harsh chills of the next one. The beginnings of the next one, at least. Snow had yet to fall on them, but the winds had picked up after they landed on the shores of Anima. And the ground was getting too cold to sit on comfortably. Not that it bothered Neo particularly. She had slept on too many floors and sidewalks in her youth to be fazed by much. That said, sleeping was going to be difficult. Howling winds, nearly icy grass, the hard ground— all without mentioning how she was feeling at the moment.

Roman’s hat had suffered… worse than she had expected. It wasn’t in good condition. Tattered and torn, it had barely survived the last encounter. Part of her had almost forgotten she’d had it. It hadn’t occurred to her that it could be damaged when they were swimming in the ocean. But sure enough, it had been waterlogged to the extreme. With all the challenges they’d experienced across the past couple of weeks, it was _possibly_ beyond the point of salvaging. _Possibly._ But not enough to say definitively, yet. So she would hang on to it until it was pried from her dead hands. Luckily enough, the cane was still in a passable state. It was hidden with her parasol top, tied together and disguised as a sheath. Yang hadn’t seen it yet, and it would remain that way for as long as Neo could afford.

Speaking of Yang. She’d seemed… troubled, since their last encounter. It wasn’t clear what was bothering her the most— Neo’s willingness to kill, or how much of herself the blonde saw in her. Truth be told, it had never really occurred to Neo, what they shared in common. But there were certainly some things they did, and Neo’s last outburst had illustrated that to them. She knew she should say something. It would probably help them both, if she would say something. If only she could just _say_ something. 

But saying things wasn’t really an affinity of Neo’s.

So instead they sat there, silently by their campfire beneath the trees, while Neo waited for Yang to break the silence.

“So, Polly,” Yang started.

Lucky Neo.

She looked up at Yang expectantly. Yang was silent. Her lilac eyes were locked on the firepit in front of them. She was prodding it gently with a stick, stoking it over and over again. Her lips were locked tight, and you could tell she was chewing the inside of her mouth. It took her a while to find her words, Neo supposed.

“What…” Yang finally began to continue. “Happened, back there? Last night, I mean.”

Neo didn’t answer. She kept looking at Yang, careful not to emote at all.

“I mean,” Yang shifted in her spot, leaning forward slightly. “What made you lose it like that? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose control like that before.”

Neo was silent. She turned her gaze back to the fire.

“Y’know, I…” Yang said. “I understand if it’s personal. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But…”

She trailed off, and they both stared at the fire for a time. They let the soft snaps and pops of the burning wood take over again.

“I know what it’s like,” Yang spoke up again.

Neo looked up at her.

“To just… lose it,” she pressed on. Then she chuckled. It was a sad chuckle, almost. “Fuck, I might be the world’s authority on just fucking losing it.”

The night sky twinkled over top of them with its stars and its moon. They’d be gone, hidden beneath the clouds, soon enough. So Yang looked up at it, catching it before it left.

“Sometimes… Sometimes I just feel so much _anger._ I don’t just mean like, frustrated, or upset either.”

Neo pulled in her legs, tucking her knees against her chest.

“And I get pretty damn frustrated, still,” Yang said. “But I mean… sometimes I just… I just feel so much _hate._ Y'know? Like, I just can’t contain it anymore. It’s like something inside me is just locked tight, and then suddenly sets it off, and… boom.”

She looked down at the fire again.

“Everything comes out at once,” she said.

The flames were reflected in her eyes. It looked like an erupting flame in an evening sky. Like a bleeding sunset.

“And I don’t even know where it all comes from. It’s just there. And suddenly I can’t control it. I’m not even aware of it. And then it’s like nothing else exists, except the hate.”

Neo could only listen.

“I’m not talking about my semblance, either. I can use it without getting that angry,” Yang said, then paused, pursing her lips. “Well, not lately, actually. But I used to be able to. And I’ve always felt this hate. As long as I can remember.”

Neo bowed her head, slightly. Honestly, she wasn’t sure what to say. People rarely opened up to her like this. In fact, the only person to do so before she met Yang was Roman. Now this had happened with Yang, and more than once. She thought back to that dark classroom in Beacon, laying together in each other's arms. She thought to the rooftops the night of the fall, staring out over the skyline as they talked through tears and hushed voices. She felt a pang of guilt. Guilt. Neo didn’t even really know what that meant. What was it, to be guilty? Roman used to say that you were only guilty if you were caught. That the guilty are just the accused. But what about here? What about right now? Was she responsible, for what she’d done? How she’d treated Yang? Yang didn’t even know the half of what Neo had done. So then why does looking into her eyes make her feel like someone’s accusing her?

“So, uh…” Yang started again, pushing through the heavy silence. “Who is it… that you’re trying to avenge, exactly?”

Neo had hoped that would never come up.

 _“My…”_ She began, after a while. It was difficult to get it into words. _“The only person who ever really cared for me.”_

She wasn’t sure why she didn’t lie.

“Oh.”

It felt like Yang wanted to say something else. Like she had some way to respond to that, an answer— or maybe a question?

“Who were they? To you, I mean.” 

Neo was pretty sure that wasn’t the question.

 _“Not quite my dad,”_ Neo responded, after a pause. _“But close enough.”_

“I’m sorry,” Yang said.

 _“You don’t have to be,”_ Neo said. _“He didn’t want me to call him dad, anyway.”_

“Why not?”

 _“He said it made us less like friends,”_ Neo shrugged. _“But he was probably just scared of being a bad dad.”_

“Oh. Okay.”

Neo had never really verbalized that, before. But as far as she could tell, it was true. Roman cared about her like she was his daughter. Even if he feigned disinterest, at times, it was always obvious. He couldn’t help but show how much he loved her. But a father’s life was never the kind of life he’d intended, so he pretended it wasn’t his. Too bad Neo never stopped looking at him like he was her dad.

“Y’know, my mom died when I was little,” Yang spoke up. “Old enough to understand, at least.”

Neo looked up, questioningly.

_“I thought—”_

“Yeah, she wasn’t my mother,” Yang nodded. “She was Ruby’s mother. But she was our mom. Summer Rose. Did more to raise me in 5 years than my mother did my whole life. So yeah, she was my mom.”

 _“Oh,”_ Neo nodded. _“I… I’m sorry.”_

It was difficult to say, but at the same time it was easier than she’d expected.

“It’s like you said,” Yang shook her head. “You don’t have to be.” 

Neo sighed gently.

“I’ve learned that family is just a word,” Yang went on. “No bloodlines or genetics can define who you care about. It doesn’t matter what you call him. If you saw him as your dad, then, well. He was probably your dad.”

Neo couldn’t help but agree with that.

“I miss my mom every day. Ruby barely knew her and I know she does too. But at least I can be thankful she was there when it mattered, and she didn’t abandon us. It’d be a hell of a lot worse, if she’d left us on her own terms.”

 _“I guess so,”_ Neo said.

“So at least your dad— whoever he was, he was there for you when it mattered. And… maybe he still would be, if he could be.”

_“Maybe.”_

“I don’t know,” Yang sighed. “Maybe I’m just talking. I can’t help but feel like everyone leaves eventually, anyway.”

_“Me too.”_

“Being alone fucking sucks.”

_“It does.”_

“But it’s always worse when people leave you on purpose.”

Neo looked up at her. Yang’s eyes were trained on the fire, sparkling softly in the warm light. Neo felt like she was in between two heat sources, one in front of her and the other to her side. It was comforting, and she didn’t want to move. She was glad that they were going to be there a bit. At least until the sun started to rise. That wouldn’t be for a while longer. 

Neo just didn’t want to feel lonely, anymore.

 

— — — 

 

The first thing Yang had noticed this morning was the soft crunch of frost beneath her boots. That, and the several degrees it had dropped since last night. Or maybe it was just that the fire had gone out, by now.

Well, maybe that wasn’t the _first_ thing that Yang noticed. 

That honor probably went to the head resting gently on her shoulder, when she first woke up. 

She had fallen asleep against the tree trunk that was nearest to the fire. Apparently Polly had liked that idea, as well, since she was asleep not five inches away from Yang. Her dark hair, untied and hanging loose since their last battle, was over Yang’s chest and arm like black vines growing across the bark of a tree. It was softer than she remembered. And it reminded her of older times. Better times. 

Polly had woken up shortly after her. Only ten, maybe fifteen minutes later. Long enough for Yang to enjoy it, question whether she should be enjoying it, then resigning herself to just enjoying it again. Once both of them were awake, they stood up hastily to get ready to hit the road. And they pretended like it hadn’t happened. Naturally. It was obvious, Yang thought as they walked down the loose dirt path, that both of them were going to avoid addressing it. They both knew the other was acting like there was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing worth talking about. And they both knew that they were lying to each other. Or maybe they were lying to themselves? Who knows. Yang had given up trying to understand emotions a while ago, now. It was hard to try, when you knew you were attracted to people who looked like your mother. That level of discomfort was enough to make you ignore the reason behind your feelings and just forget about them entirely.

Not that Yang was forgetting how she felt. It was obvious, just as it was obvious that they were putting on an act, that Yang still felt _something_ for Polly. What that something _was_ wasn’t quite as obvious, but she felt like she had a pretty good guess. And if there was any question that Polly shared some of that _something_ that Yang was feeling, that had evaporated entirely this morning. They both felt it. They both knew they felt it. And they both knew the other felt it. The question was, where do they go from here? Was Polly going to act on it?

Yang sure wasn’t going to.

She wasn’t sure why Polly hadn’t acted on it yet, but if she had to guess, it would probably because the shorter girl was afraid. Afraid of… something. Afraid of making the connection. Afraid of the hurt that came with it. Yang knew that was part of her own reason, for not acting yet. It was for sure. She had lost enough in her life. She had lost enough people. And she’d been through this before— with the exact same person, too. Yang had opened her heart to her, before, and then had it promptly tossed right back at her. She wasn’t interested in hurting like that again. Being alone sucked. Being alone after someone left you sucked a whole lot more. Maybe Polly would be the last time she needed to learn that lesson.

Which begs the question— why was Yang hoping that Polly would act on it, then?

So maybe not.

They’d been walking for a few hours now. They stopped briefly to eat. A little gas-station pit stop, out in the middle of nowhere. The place looked abandoned, but there was money in the register and some signs of life. So Yang had left some money to pay anyway. Polly gave her a look when she did it, but Yang gave her a look back, so that was that. No words to be said on the matter. They knew where the other stood, so there was no point in arguing. Yang just hoped that Polly hadn’t stolen the money right back. The sun was fading in the sky— not that it was much visible, anyway. The clouds obscured all but the faintest glow of sunshine. And thicker clouds were on the way. If you looked hard enough, Yang swore you could see the flurries off in the distance. That was probably just her imagination, though. 

They were walking through a small clearing in the woods, when Polly stopped suddenly. Her hand shot up to her side, right in front of Yang.

“What?”

Polly put up her hand for silence. Then she put her hand to her ear, signaling to listen.

Yang couldn’t hear it at first. But as she listened, it slowly became clearer. The faintest, quietest breaths, coming from nearby. They were quick, panting, and weak. Like someone on the verge of collapse. Or worse.

Polly slowly turned. She pointed, and Yang’s eyes followed. A few yards off from them was a rock. Fairly large. Just barely visible behind it was a leg, fully extended and lying along the grass. It trembled slightly, and there was blood marking the pants.

“Shit,” Yang said under her breath. “Come on!”

She gestured to follow and hurried over to the rock. Wrapping around the side, the victim came into view. A man, somewhat young— wearing armor with the Mistral kingdom symbol. A huntsman, probably. Yang dropped to his side and checked his pulse. Slow, but active. His breaths were getting worse by the second. The gash in his side was massive. Long, and around his waist, like a slice of weapon.

“Hang on,” Yang tried to sound calm. “Hang in there. What happened?”

“Uh…” He only groaned in response. 

Polly stood behind them, watching. 

“Hey, hang on,” she shook him slightly, trying to hold his head upright. Blood was leaking onto her hands. “What happened? What happened to you?”

“Buh…” He winced as he tried to get the words out. “B-bandits…”

“Bandits?” Yang asked. “Are they gone?”

He nodded, cringing as he did so.

“Okay,” Yang said. “Just hang in there. You’re gonna be alright, just hang on.”

Polly tapped Yang’s shoulder.

“Not now,” Yang said, without turning. “Can you stand?”

He didn’t respond.

“Hey, hey— wake up, don’t die on me now.”

He groaned again, shaking his head.

Polly tapped on her shoulder again, harder.

“Not now!” Yang snapped.

“Too… too many of… of them…” He muttered to himself.

“Hey, hey,” Yang said. “They’re gone, right? Don’t worry about them. Come on, we're getting you out of here. Just try and hang on.”

“Br…” He was nearly incoherent, in his delirium. 

Polly grabbed Yang’s shoulder hard. Yang whirled around and glared at her.

“I said not now!”

 _“You can’t save him,”_ Polly said. _“He’s already dead.”_

“Shut up!” Yang shouted.

“Bran… clan…” He kept rambling weakly, barely sounding aware at all anymore. “Branwe…”

Yang’s brow furrowed. Turning slowly, she stared at him.

“What did you just say?” She said, after a moment.

“Branwen… clan…”

Her eyes grew wide. 

“Say that again.”

“Bra…” His voice trailed off, helplessly.

“Say that again!” Yang repeated.

He didn’t answer.

“Hey! Say that again! Hey!” 

He still didn’t answer. She shook him. His arm fell from his wound to the grass, and his head slumped to his shoulder. There weren’t any more breaths, and Yang didn’t need to check his pulse to know it was gone.

Polly pulled on Yang’s shoulder.

“Stop.”

Slowly, she pulled her hands away from his head. They were stained red. Polly pulled on her harder, and Yang didn’t answer or move. She just stared at him for a moment. Then she looked down at the grass. Polly tugged on her another time, and Yang fell backward onto her butt.

 _“Come on,”_ Polly said.

“Stop,” Yang repeated.

 _“He’s dead,”_ Polly said. _“We have to go.”_

“I said stop!”

Yang launched to her feet, grabbing Polly by the collar. Polly tried to push Yang off, but her grip was too tight.

_“Let go!”_

“Do you know what this means?!”

“ _Get off!”_

“We have to find them. We have to find the bandits.”

 _“No, Yang— Let go!”_ Polly tried to shake free. 

“We have to find them!”

_“You can’t save everyone—”_

“No,” Yang said. “You don’t understand.”

She finally let go of Polly, and the shorter girl stumbled backward.

“We have to find them,” she repeated.

 _“Yang, stop,”_ Polly pleaded. _“He’s dead. It’s not worth avenging him.”_

“We’re _going_ to find them.”

_“Don’t you know who the Branwen clan is? Haven’t you heard that name before?”_

Any other time, Polly saying this would have surprised Yang. Not this time. This time, Yang wasn’t thinking clearly enough to be surprised.

“Of course I have,” Yang said. “It’s my mother’s name, after all.”

Polly stared at her. Her eyes grew nearly as wide as Yang’s had.

_“Your… what?”_

“Like I said,” Yang said.

She turned, heading into the woods ahead of them, staring at the grass intently while searching for tracks.

“We’re finding them.”

 

— — — 

 

The blizzard would be over them, soon.

Neo didn’t know much about the Branwen clan. She’d never been to Anima, after all. But she’d heard the name, once or twice. Roman had mentioned them before. Roman rarely showed fear. Even if he was afraid, he was always good at hiding it. He never once mentioned the Branwen clan without a hint of fear in his voice. Neo didn’t know what they did, or how much he’d dealt with them. But if they scared Roman enough to show, then she wasn’t interested in dealing with them. Never had been. 

Now she could put a face to a name. Or, at least, a mask. 

The woman on the train— the one that had saved Yang. The one that Cinder always described as dangerous The one she later found out was Yang’s mother. That was _Raven Branwen._ The leader of the clan. It was all starting to come together. Dangerous enough to scare her off. Dangerous enough to scare Roman. Dangerous enough to scare _Cinder._ That was Yang’s _mother._

Fuck.

Snow had started to fall. It was cold enough to stick, so their feet pressed into the snowy ground beneath them as they trudged along. It wasn’t too deep yet, but they were walking further towards the blizzard as they went. It would be deep, soon enough. Freezing to death was becoming a… realistic option. Yang was marching ahead of her, moving with more purpose than Neo had ever seen in her. There was a determination in her, like a blazing flame. Under any other circumstances, it would have been very nice to see. They could’ve used determination like this _weeks_ ago. Right now, though? Right now, Neo wished that Yang would decide to give up.

Of course, she knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Neo sped up slightly, catching up to Yang.

 _“Yang, it’s been two days,”_ Neo said. _“We need to keep going.”_

“She’s this way,” Yang said. “I know she is.”

_“What if she isn’t?”_

“She is.”

_“How do you know?”_

“I just do. I can feel it.”

_“But what if you’re wrong?”_

“Then we’ll keep looking,” Yang said.

 _“Yang,”_ Neo reached out and grabbed Yang’s arm. _“I know she’s your mother. But you have to understand—”_

“No, you have to understand,” Yang spun around, gritting her teeth and staring at her. “You have to understand, Polly. She’s my mother. And I’m _going_ to find her. With or without you. You aren’t going to stop me.”

_“Yang—”_

“You _aren’t_ going to stop me,” Yang snarled. “So quit trying.”

_“Please, at least listen—”_

“There’s nothing left to say,” Yang shook her head. “This is what’s happening. You can go on without me, or you can help. There’s nothing in between.”

_“Yang, she’s not—”_

“What part—” Yang stepped forward, raising her voice. “About _quit trying_ don’t you—”

A bang rang out from behind them. Neo had been too focused on the argument to hear them being approached— but the moment Yang hit the ground, she knew what was up.

“Fuck!” Yang cried out, gripping her shoulder. 

Neo dropped to her side, grabbing Yang and pulling her over to the nearest cover— a boulder by the edge of the trees. She reached down, checking Yang’s wound. Her aura had blocked most of it, but there was some blood where the bullet had hit.

“God, dammit,” Yang cringed, gritting her teeth in pain.

 _“Hang on—”_ Another shot rang out, hitting Neo in the small of her back.

She had her aura all the way up, but the impact was enough to wind her briefly and knock her into the boulder. Turning on her back, she looked to see a tall, dirty-blonde man standing at the edge of the trees in front of them. He was holding a revolver, aiming it right at them.

“Well lookie what we got here,” he said in his nasally, almost high pitched voice. “Too little birds, too far from the nest.”

Neo snarled at him, leaning forward and crouching with her hand on her weapon’s hilt. She got ready to lunge.

“I’d look around if I were you, sweetheart,” he said. “Check yourself, before you do something you regret.”

Shifting slightly, she looked around them. Several other people came out of the trees from every angle, slowly surrounding them. There were seven— no, eight of them.

“Why don’t we do this the easy way,” he said, through a filthy grin. “And maybe the two of you walk away from this. In some way or another.”

Neo growled at him.

“You’re a wild little freak, aren’t you?” He laughed. “Well, lucky we got a few who like ‘em wild. Me personally… your friend’d fit my tastes, I think.”

He turned his gaze to Yang. She glared at him, leaning forward as she kept her metal hand on her wounded shoulder.

“Come on, now,” he kept that dirty smile wide across his face. “It won’t be so bad…”

“If you touch me I’ll rip your tongue out,” Yang spat.

“Oh, a talker?” He looked at Neo. “I thought maybe both of you were the silent type. 

Neo took a step forward, only to have every weapon in the band aimed right at her. Still, she didn’t flinch.

“Now, now,” he clicked his tongue as he spoke. “Let’s stay civil, here. We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

Neo hissed. 

“Polly,” Yang groaned through her teeth. 

There was a wildness, in Neos’ eyes. She looked back at Yang, nostrils flared and teeth bared.

“Polly,” Yang repeated, leaning forward and reaching to her shoulder. 

There was a look in Yang’s eyes, as well. Anger. Hate. Fury. Determination. Everything was burning. Crimson flowed into Yang’s eyes, glowing red and blazing with fire. Neo could see it all. Yang didn’t have to say a word. Neo saw it all, and she only needed to nod.

Yang nodded back. 

So Neo let loose.

“Hey,” the man with the revolver had started. “You two forget—”

He was interrupted by a black blur, as Neo collided with him. Her weapon was ready, and she pressed it across his neck with her hands on either end. She used her momentum to flip him over, sending him crashing into a tree. There was a second— just one, short, brief, momentary, long, eternal second— of silence. Pure silence. Even the storm seemed to go quiet for them. For just one second. Then bullets were ripping through the air, voices were shouting, and metal was clashing. Neo could hear Yang light up behind her, flying into the fray with flames spouting from her hair. 

“Fuckin’ bitch!” A woman’s voice shouted, and Neo turned to see bandit coming at her with a spiked club. 

Right as the club was about to hit her, she shattered to glass. The woman stumbled forward through the remnants of the illusion, with only a moment to be confused before a heel flew into the back of her skull. She dropped, stunned, to the snow. Meanwhile, there was a series of crashes behind her. Someone had been launched through a row of trees. Neo glanced back and caught a glimpse of Yang hurling a person through the air. They flailed helplessly until they came hurtling back down to the earth where they stayed, unconscious. Neo turned back to what was in front of her. A bullet spiraled towards her, only to be deflected by the blade of her weapon. Locking in on its source, she darted forward. A blur in their eyes, they were in the snow too soon enough.

It wasn’t clear what set Neo off. It wasn’t clear when it happened. It wasn’t clear what had made her turn on the ignition and put on the gas. It wasn’t clear when she truly let loose. It wasn’t clear when she lost control.

But at some point along the way, during the fight.

It happened.

She darted from person to person like a sparrow. She was weightless, a feather— but she was quick. Cunning. Relentless. Unwavering, unfearing, unyielding. One by one, bandit by bandit, she took them to the earth, then to the sky— to the sun and the moon, then back again. She buried them in the snow, and she buried them deep. She buried them so deep that she didn’t realize the snow they were buried in was turning red. She didn’t realize that she buried her weapon inside of them, through them and out the other side— broken auras, broken bones, broken hearts, broken heads. They were all the same, to her. And they sank deeper and deeper into the crimson frost while she battled on, unnoticing. Not that it would have made a difference to her. It was all instinct. All reactionary. Instincts she’d managed to keep mostly in check, until now. But you can’t keep nature at bay. Cinder had said that to her once. The leaves, the trees, the ocean, the rocks— you can’t bury them all. They always dig their way back up. But Neo didn’t realize that. Not really. Not quite yet. So she didn’t realize when it was happening, right now.

And she didn’t realize Yang screaming her name.

With a wet slide, she dragged her weapon from the last of the bandits. It was the man who she’d started with— the dirty blonde with the revolver. There was a hole in his throat where her sword had been. Blood spurted for a few moments, like he was coughing from his neck— almost like he was still just barely alive. Then it stopped, and he didn’t seem very alive anymore.

“P-Polly…” Yang spoke in almost a whisper. “What did you do…”

Neo stood up straight. The cracking in her spine was audible as it stretched out, free from her hunched over position. Carefully, she ran her weapon down her sleeve and wiped the blood away, then drew it back into her sheathe.

“Polly…” Yang repeated, louder this time. “What did you do?!”

Neo looked down at her hands. It looked like she had red skin. The most of it pooled in the cracks and lines of her palm but there was some at the ends of her fingers, dripping gently to the snow with a quite _pit-pat._ Shaking her hands at her sides, she flicked most of the pools of blood to the ground around her. The ringing in her ears was starting to fade, and she was beginning to hear Yang.

“Why did you…” She sounded like she was in shock. “Polly, what… Why would you do that?!”

Neo blinked a few times. Colors flashed around her, and she couldn’t focus enough to correct them. 

“Polly!”

Her ear twitched. Something snapped her back to reality, finally. Maybe it was Yang, screaming at her from behind. Finally, she began to turn. Slowly, as if in a daze. When she met Yang’s gaze, the blonde’s eyes were wide. Wider than wide. They looked like full moons to someone who had never seen a full moon before. And they shined in the light that reflected off the snow. There was water forming in them.

“You…” Yang’s voice was quiet. Almost scared. Neo wanted to raise an eyebrow, but she couldn’t will it to happen.

Yang’s hand rose slowly. It shook as her fingers curled and contorted into a point. It aimed at her, trembling and shivering. But not from the snow.

“You…” Yang repeated. 

Neo’s eyes moved slowly— but even still they moved faster than her mind. Her thoughts traveled in slow motion, like she could see them coming but not know what they meant. But part of her knew anyway. Part of her knew, as she lowered her gaze, what her eyes were going to see. Even if it hadn’t registered in her brain yet, she knew what she would see. And she would hate herself for it. Neo could see her own hair hanging over her shoulders. It was loose and untied, draped wide along her shoulder blades, collecting white specks of snow. 

“Your eyes…” Yang muttered. “Your eyes turned white.”

Her hair was pink, brown, and white.

As slowly as she could, she looked back up.

“You…” Yang spoke through her teeth this time. “Liar.”

Neo’s mouth fell open. She tried to raise her hands. She tried to answer. She tried to explain, to defend herself, to attack, to run away. To scream. But she couldn’t. She just stood there, still and stupid. And Yang let loose.

“You LIAR!” Yang screamed. Her eyes turned bright red. Her hair flamed up around her. “YOU— YOU— ALL ALONG, IT WAS _YOU?!”_

Neo tried to answer. Her hands began to move, slowly— like they were slowly breaking free from a stone encasing.

“EVERYTHING YOU—” Yang was a fiery column in the middle of a snowstorm. “ALL OF THAT, AND THIS WHOLE TIME— _YOU?!_ I— I—”

Neo found the will to move. 

_“Yang, I—”_

“NO! NO, YOU DON’T—” Yang trembled, like a volcano on the verge of eruption. An eruption that would be heard for miles. “YOU DON’T GET TO— TO— LYING, THIS LONG, AND— HOW COULD— AND I— I—”

_“Please—”_

“EVERYTHING, ALL OF THAT— AND IT WAS ALL _FAKE?!”_

_“No, I—”_

“HOW— HOW—” Yang was stuttering. If it weren’t for all the rage and fire, she’d be on the verge of collapse. Even Neo couldn’t help but notice the tears on her cheeks. “And I fell for it… I actually _fucking_ fell for it?! I— I trusted you, and— and—”

 _“No, Yang—”_ Neo tried to step forward. 

“Get away from me!”

_“Yang—”_

“I SAID GET AWAY!”

Yang fired off a concussive blast. It knocked Neo backward, into the snow.

“I… You— You’re a liar,” Yang said.

_“Please—”_

“Shut the fuck up,” Yang pointed at her. 

At her side, her metal hand armed itself. Yang took a step forward, clenching her fists. She was shaking. She bit down on her lip, hard. Some blood dripped down from it. She took another step, closer and closer. She raised her fist. Neo stared up at Yang’s knuckles. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t react. She couldn’t defend herself. She couldn’t do _anything._ Anything but wait. So she waited. She waited for Yang to bring down her wrath and her fury. And what happens, happens.

But Yang’s fists unclenched. They fell to her sides, loose and relaxed. Weak, if anything. Her head drooped, and she sniffled. Tears hit the ground beneath her. Slowly, Neo tried to reach forwards.

“Don’t touch me,” Yang said.

Neo stopped.

“I never wanna see you ever again,” she said.

Neo just now noticed the water in her own eyes.

“You hear me?!”

Neo nodded. Tears were trailing down her own cheeks, already.

“Never again,” Yang repeated. “Or I’ll— I’ll—”

She struggled with her words.

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” she said finally. “But it’ll be something I never want to do.”

Neo only could nod.

Yang stumbled backward. She pointed at Neo one last time, and looked like she wanted to say something. But she just kept stumbling, until she turned completely. She ran, and ran and ran and ran, through the trees and out into the snowy wastes. Neo just sat there, watching. Watching Yang run and run and run, until she vanished into the white winds off in the distance. 

The blizzard would be over her, soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took... a lot longer than I would've liked. I have a pretty valid excuse for that, but it still took way longer than it probably should have. But hey, at least it's up now. So that's something.


	19. The Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there's 19. Took a bit less time than the last chapter, at least. And we're getting deeper into the thick of it, too! Enjoy, as always!

**XIX**

**_The Storm_ **

— — —  

_ “From the unknown, _

_ I ran away, I don't think I'm coming back home.” _

_ — — — _

Yang trudged through the snow on her own. The white sheet on the ground had grown thicker and thicker as the days dragged on, until she was nearly knee-deep in the cold. The layers of her jackets had protected her thus far, but she was a long way away from warm by now. The howls of the winds overhead grew louder and louder and fell closer and closer to the ground until they were hardly only overhead anymore. A sharp dagger of gust ripped through her, making her jacket flutter and blow back. The snowflakes were biting at her cheeks, and she could hardly push through the wind as it pushed on her. She reached back and grabbed the corners of the jacket, pulling them back forward. The shivers in her good hand were too much to be able to help each button find their way into its place. The cold crept its way through her fingers even through her glove. Luckily, her right was resilient enough to survive the chill. Eventually, she got the buttons together with one hand, and her jacket was shut. Warmth didn’t overtake her, but at least the winds would turn the jacket into a human sail again. Her pale breaths camouflaged with the snow in the air around her, practically turning to ice the very second it left her lungs. It felt like ice was climbing through her throat, creeping up and out her lips. It made it hard to breathe. It was hard not to imagine herself choking on her own air, soon.

A chill vibrated down her spine and into her legs. The shake hit her knees and one of them locked. She buckled and stumbled forwards, hands in the snow beneath her. The yellow of her hair surrounded her as it fell with her, draping over the sides of her head and covering her eyes like a field of golden wheat. Huffing, she placed her foot on the ground and slowly but surely forced herself back up. Her hands found their way to her arms, rubbing intensely. She could barely feel anything, anymore. Anything but the cold and the numbness. Even the frost had ceased to have sensation on her. Ice could have spread across her body like spider webs and she wouldn’t have felt a thing. The snow at her feet was like quicksand as her boots tried to push through it, step by step. She was hardly aware of the motions, anymore. It was getting hard to focus, and the trees were starting to split into double. Triple. More. A wall of trees, around her. Frozen, dark, spiraling trees. Looming over her, from every angle. She stopped, afraid of walking into the wall. Her legs could bear it. The warmth of movement was the only thing keeping them up. Her knees gave again, and she was face first in the snow once more.

She tried to push herself back up. The snow pulled her back down. She tried again. The snow pulled her down again. A grunt escaped her lips. It was the first noise she’d heard from herself in a long time, it felt like. One of her boots moved beneath her, searching for footing. She felt her legs push herself upwards, towards the sky. The trees were even more numerous. They seemed transparent, like ghosts. But they were everywhere. She stumbled around, looking in circles. Her path was gone. The snow had covered her tracks already. She forgot which way she came from. Which way she was going. All the trees stared at her, taunting her. Menacing her. She coughed and it felt like she was coughing up ice. It was like her lungs were filled with snow. Every cough felt like more came out, and the more formed at the bottom. Another cough, this time felt like water. She looked down. There was a red spot in the snow. So she had coughed something after all. The blood seemed to freeze almost instantly. It was so cold it looked dry. As she stared at it, the ground began to rock and curve, like waves in the sea. The red split to either side, doubling like the trees. Her hands were on her knees and she hadn’t even noticed. Taking them off, she began to take another step.

The step led her straight back down into the snow. The snow, and her own blood. Thinking was becoming too difficult. There was a growling from her gut. It had been a day or two, since she’d last eaten. Maybe three. It was hard to keep track. The walls of her stomach felt like they were shriveled and tight. Like it shrank ten sizes too small. Putting her hands ahead of her, she gripped the ice. Desperation was drifting away. Becoming like a distant memory, a long lost thought in the void of the forgotten. It was like she couldn’t even want anymore. Everything felt far away. Every sensation, thought, feeling, memory. It all seemed so obscure, far-flung. Still, she was clawing along, crawling forward through the snow. No clue where she was going, what was ahead. Where she was now. For all she knew, she was going from where she came. If she had the sense in her, she would have hoped she wasn’t. She needed to keep going. Keep moving ahead. Any chance at survival behind was too far back to reach. She had to keep going on. Maybe she would find something. Some sort of sign of life. Some savior, some shot at life. There had to be. Something. Anything.

_ Anything. _

There was a dim glow through the white winds. At first, it looked like a vision. A hallucination, a mirage in this frozen desert. Still, it was a glow. A glow meant light meant warmth meant life meant survival. It was her only chance. Her only hope. Though she was done hoping. Hope felt too far away to even think about. Just like everything else. Her head was empty. She crawled towards the light, inch by inch, thoughtless and barely awake. If she wasn’t moving, you’d think she was sleeping. Or dead.

Probably dead.

But she wasn’t dead.

Not just yet.

And that was enough to keep going.

The glow was growing. Ever so slightly. It was getting nearer. Or was she getting nearer? Maybe those were the same thing. She couldn’t remember. She couldn’t remember anything, anymore. Everything was blank. All white, like the world around her. No— she could remember something. A little. Just a bit. One piece at a time, she could remember things. Individual, small things— things that were supposed to be impossible to forget. And yet here she was, listing them off in her brain, one by one, struggling to get through them all. 

Her mind raced. It raced, but it was no faster than she was, right now. Like it was encased in ice. She just had to make sure she remembered. She just had to remember.

_ My name is Yang Xiao Long. _

_ I am 18 years old. _

_ I have blonde hair. _

_ My father is Taiyang Xiao Long. _

_ My sister is Ruby Rose. _

_ My mother growing up was Summer Rose. _

_ I live in Patch. _

_ My favorite color is yellow.  _

_ I am a Huntress in training. _

_ I was a member of Team RWBY. _

_ I am looking for my mother. _

_ I am looking for Raven Branwen. _

_ I am alone. _

She was hardly moving. The light had stopped growing. It was bigger, now, but it had stopped growing nonetheless.

_ I am alone. _

_ I am alone. _

Movement. Faint, quiet. Too quiet for her to hear. But movement. Something trudging through the snow. Hostile, maybe? Or friendly? No. What could be friendly, out here, in the middle of nowhere? Nothing. Right?

_ The storm is over me. _

_ I am alone. _

And alone, she was. All alone, separate from everyone she’d ever known. From everyone she’d ever loved. She was by herself, out there in the cold death that was consuming her. The storm battered down from above, layering over her as it came. It was burying her, here in her very own frozen grave, and she could feel herself fading. As though her soul was escaping her with every breath rising with the hum of the winds and vaporizing into the icy clouds above. She wondered what was up there. What lay beyond. Where she would go. It was one of those mysteries, wasn’t it? Well, it wasn’t one she’d ever concerned herself with. Afterlife— it always seemed so… after life. So far away. Why worry about it? Why worry about what isn’t going to affect her for a long, long time?

It might not be so long, after all.

And in this moment, in this long, drawn-out moment of reflection— when everything lie on the earth around her, when it was all out there and it all came rushing through, should couldn’t help but hope that there would be nothing. Hope that nothing would lay beyond but silence. Silence and serenity. That would be nice. If that’s all that there was, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe it wouldn’t be that awful. Maybe she’d get used to it. Maybe she would be better off, alone.

_ Alone. _

_ I am alone. _

She wasn’t alone before. But she was now. Because Polly— no, that wasn’t right. What was her name? Something with an N. Nia? Noi? She felt like she’d been here before.

Neo. Neo sounded right.

Whatever her name was, she had lied. And she’d tried to kill her. And she’d tried to kill her sister. So she had been using her. She must have been. She  _ must  _ have been. So Yang had to go. She had to be alone. She couldn’t be with that person anymore. With that— that—  _ killer.  _

The one thing she was having trouble with was accepting just how much that broke her heart.

But here she was. Alone.

All Alone.

_ I am alone. _

Somehow, the will to lift her head found its way out. She was alone. She hadn’t always been alone— but then again, hadn’t she been? 

Raven left when she was little. Summer died when she was young. Tai had locked down, for a time. Who was gonna raise her little sister? Ruby? No. Yang would do that. Yang  _ did  _ that. 

Who had been there for her when she lost her arm? Who had been there for her when she had to cope with friends dying? Who had been there to help her get past Blake abandoning her? Not Blake. Obviously. So Yang had to be.

Who had helped her get back on her feet? Train? Well, technically Neo had helped her with that. But good luck getting Yang to admit it.

Who had helped her search for her mom? Had her father helped her? Had Qrow? Raven certainly hadn’t. So who had done the searching? Her. Yang did. 

And Yang was here now. On the verge of finding her.  _ Finally  _ finding her. After all these years. And who had helped her? Who had gotten her there?

She did.

Yang did.

So who was going to stop her? Who was going to keep her from her mission? From finding her mother? From— well, she still didn’t know what she’d do when she found Raven, but whatever it was, she was going to do it. So who could prevent that? 

Only she could.

Not some storm. Not some ice and snow and cold winds. Not some hunger, not some thirst. Not some wild Grimm or roving bandits. Not some lying girl who pretended to want to help her— who pretended to love her.

This wasn’t where Yang dies. No. That silence, that serenity— that would wait. Because Yang wasn’t going there yet. No matter what, she wouldn’t. There were things she had to do. So she wouldn’t die here. She may fall. Not here. Not like this. 

Not.

_ Yet. _

Because she  _ said so.  _

The snow crunched in her fingers as she gripped the patch in front of her. Flakes poured off her back as she rose, meeting with the pale world beneath her and vanishing into the uniformity. Above it, Yang put her feet down. One step at a time, she pushed through. Brown boots cut through the cold, slicing and carving a path for herself. The glow was growing brighter. It was closer. Closer. Close. So close.

A log cabin. All on its own, separate from the rest of the world. It was flickering gently from the frosted windows, dim orange light spilling out into the white winds. A chimney towards the back spewed black smoke, which was consumed by the pale gusts of snow in an instant. With an outstretched hand, she fought her way to a wall. Her palm dragged along the logs as she moved, slowly but surely, skirting the edge of the cabin. There was a knock, and she stumbled. Her hand had hit something. Reaching out again, she felt the shape of a door. An entrance. An escape from this world. Hope.

She knocked. Once, then twice. Then three times. She didn’t think about knocking a fourth time. The door would open, whether the owner would like it or not. They would figure it out from there.

With a step backwards, she braced herself. There was so little gas left in the tank. This had to be everything she had. She had to give it all. One bash— that was all she had in her. If it didn’t open then, well… she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. 

She took a deep breath, and threw herself, metal shoulder first, at the door.

And when it opened on its own, before she collided with it, and she found herself sprawled across the wooden plank floor, there was only one thing she could think about.

_ Warmth…  _

 

— — — 

 

It hurt.

It hurt, to be this alone. 

Neo had been alone before. Many times before, really. She knew what it was like. One might say she was well-versed in the area of loneliness. And how wouldn’t she be? She grew up alone. A child, alone. Until she met Roman, she was alone. And if she didn’t know any better, she’d guess that she was alone when she was born, too. Or maybe she was. Maybe she was immaculately conceived. Born from a goat, or something. Wouldn’t that be something? She always likes goats. They looked cute, in a funny sort of way. And she appreciated their will to eat any and everything, without any care or regard in the slightest for what it would do to them. Sometimes she wished she could do that. Just eat. And eat. And eat some more. She would just eat ice cream. Nothing else. Just ice cream. Every flavor. Simple ones— vanilla, chocolate, mint, strawberry. And the fancy ones, too. The caramel and nut ones and the peanut butter chocolate ones, and all the other ones too. No sorbet, though. She’d had enough sorbet already. All she wanted was ice cream, now. Just ice cream.

All she would eat would be ice cream.

But she couldn’t do that. It would make her fat, and she didn’t want that. And besides, it wasn’t like there was much ice cream within her reach, right now.

There was plenty of ice, though.

Wasn’t that funny? It’s like being thirsty in the middle of the sea. Surrounded by the  _ one  _ thing you need the most right now, and yet you can’t have it. Of course, needing water might be a little more important than needing ice cream. But she didn’t really care. Because right now, the only thing in the world she wanted was ice cream. Because sitting here, alone in this cave, watching the blizzard whirlwinds outside, while a cold icicle dripped onto her head over and over, hurt. It hurt a lot. And the thing that always made her feel better when she hurt was ice cream. That was the only thing that would make her hurt less, right now.

Well, maybe not the only thing.

She looked down at the rocky cave she was sitting on. There was a small crevice within the stones. Maybe she could pry some of the rock off. That would make her feel better. At least she wouldn’t be thinking about it. She pushed her fingers into any parts of the crevice that they would fit, and started to pull. After a while, she just looked up and stared out at the blizzard again. She didn’t stop prying, though. Her fingers just kept pulling, slipping off upwards every few pulls, as she tried to rip the stone from the earth idly.

There was a tree outside the cave. Part of the bark had been ripped off. Maybe by a bear, or a Grimm, or something. The inside of the tree looked yellow.

_ Stupid. _

She kept pulling. The brown of the bar surrounded the yellow part. It looked like a jacket to Neo, but maybe she was just seeing things. Who knows, anymore. She couldn’t be bothered to think about it too hard. It was tiring, to think so much. And thinking seemed to remind her that she was by herself.

_ Idiot. _

Why was the sky blue, she wondered? Had someone made it that way, or was that just the way it was? Neo had never been the religious type. People that obsessed over religion seemed so silly to her. Why think about what’s beyond, when what’s right in front of you matters now? That’s what Roman always used to say, at least. She couldn’t help but feel inclined to agree. 

_ Worthless. _

Maybe there was a god, of sorts. Maybe there was someone who ordained and controlled anything. She doubted that, though. Neo’s choices were hers. She could own that. No one made those choices for her. No god controlled what she did. But still. Maybe there was one anyway. Could there be? One who just sat by and watched? One who just let all these things happen? Maybe. That made Neo angry. What kind of a god would give her a life like this?

_ Garbage. _

Why did people believe in a god? Was it just because they were raised that way? Did they ever consider the implications of a god? Of what it meant, to be someone’s creation? Did they ever think about what it must be like, staring down from the heavens, watching everyone and everything, all at once? Did they ever feel discomfort, thinking someone was watching everything they did? Did they ever ask why a god would sit by idly and let the horrors of the world unfold? What kind of god is that? What kind of god lets all this happen, and expects you to be thankful? Neo wasn’t thankful. She didn’t have anything to be thankful for. And why should she be thankful to god, if it is real? Because it created her? So what? Her mom and dad conceived her, whoever they are, but she didn’t worship them. Not by a longshot. They weren’t even worth her time. Well, unless she was born from a goat. 

_ Filthy- _

She cringed as she felt some of the stone rip off in her fingers. She looked down. Her fingers were torn and cut, covered in blood. One of her fingernails had broken off. For a while, she just stared at them. The blood dripped down onto the cave floor next to her. It hit the earth not quite in unison with the droplets of what that dripped onto her head. In the empty cavern, the echoes of the drips came together in a harmonious cacophony like percussion, the howling winds outside as the low voice of the viola. The orchestra of her and the storm played out in a discordant tune, a dirge of the hellish winterscape and the lifeless earth and the dying trees and the crippling loneliness and the crippling loneliness and the  _ crippling loneliness. _

Did she mention the crippling loneliness?

A third percussion joined the sonnet. A third and a fourth, actually. The drops of her tears, from both eyes, made a  _ pit-pat  _ against the skin of her jacket. Everything she looked at was lifeless and colorless, but  _ all  _ she could see was the hints of life that somehow remained. All she could see was the yellows and the browns and pale-skin tones and the lilacs and the reds. They clung to the world, somehow. Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe Neo was still just seeing things.

With a tip of her torso, she ruined the song and altered the composition of the music. She was on the floor, laying on her side. Her arms were around her legs, and her legs were pulled against her chest. The drip of blood remained, although the water from the cavern roof was hitting her waist now. Her tears didn’t drop to her jacket anymore, they were hitting the ground. And in this altered symphony, the tones and sounds were joined by a new instrument— the sniffling, crying sobs of a scared, lonely girl laying on the dirt floor of a cavern mouth.

Because it hurt, to be this alone.

It hurt so much.

 

— — — 

 

There was a dim echo through the chambers. Soft crackling of flames and the quiet sound of bubbles rising and popping. There was also a low, growling hum through that seemed to seep through the walls, creeping around them. Ancient, ethereal, mysterious— a powerful chorus of groaning. The chorus was just shy of faint, emanating from the void and reverberating through the dampened air. And soon thereafter, it was joined by a high-pitched whistling. Almost leading the operatics, as it rose and rose, squealing higher and higher until it was on the verge of overtaking and conquering it all. And then, just then, when it was on the precipice of its maximum, growing closer to the edge of its zenith, it was silenced. In one fell swoop, pale hands and black veins slithered in and withdrew the kettle from its black flame, turning it and pouring the hot water into crystal black mugs. The whistling ceased, the bubbles quit their popping, and the crackling receded as the dark flame began to fade. Even the ominous hum— which did yet remain— seemed to grow more subtle in Cinder’s ears.

“So, my dear,” Salem’s spoke gently as she stirred one of the mugs, the unbagged leaves turning the hot water to a soft, dark amber. 

She held the mug forward, resting it in the palm of her hand with the handle pointed to Cinder. Nodding thankfully, Cinder outstretched a hand and to the tea from Salem’s ghostly hand.

“What news do you have for me?”

Salem looked at Cinder with that same calm, expectant yet patient expression she had grown accustomed to.

“I—” Cinder began, only to be cut off by a hitch in her own speech. 

She grit her teeth, struggling to restrain the feelings of imminent choking and hacking. The left side of her throat felt dry and coarse, much like the flesh on her cheek and around her eye. The burns had been small, yet severe. The scarring on her face would be permanent, although Salem seemed to imply she may be able to fix it. Her voice had been returning— slowly but surely— after much practice, but it was still weak, and she was prone to fits of coughing and wheezing. Salem looked at her, tilting her head slightly.

“Drink,” she nodded to Cinder’s mug. “It will soothe your pain.”

Cinder nodded, then took a small sip. The heat was a bit much to her sensitive throat, but it did as promised. The pain began to drain, ever so slightly.

“Take your time, dearest,” she smiled gently. “Remember what we’ve discussed.”

She inhaled animatedly. 

“Breathe,” she exhaled. “Then speak.”

Cinder did as she was told. Breathe, then speak. It was a dull pain, to inhale heavily, but she did it anyway. It was better than the sharp and tearing pain of coughing up blood and tissue. When she felt ready, she spoke.

“I don’t have much…” She spoke slowly, carefully. “Much to tell. Ruby and her friends have… have arrived in Mistral. They aren’t aware of our… our presence, yet…”

“Good…” Salem smiled. “And the heiress?”

“She… made it, through… through the hive, but crashed in bandit territory. She’ll be… She’ll be lucky, if she survives the week.”

“Perfect,” she nodded, then sighed. “It’s a shame, to see such an excellent and beautiful specimen go to waste. But she’s a threat. We can’t afford to allow her to reach any of her allies.”

Cinder frowned. Salem took notice. She tipped back her mug and took a drink, then smiled gently. 

“You’re wondering why, yes?”

Cinder swallowed.

“I wouldn’t question—”

“It’s alright, Cinder,” she waved her hand. “You may ask questions of me, if you desire.”

Cinder nodded, slowly. Hesitantly, she opened her mouth and began to speak.

“What’s so danger… dangerous, about her?”

“She’s been touched,” Salem answered. “Something has been within her, long ago. Descended through her bloodline. It gives her the capacity to resist our hold, even if she’s brought to an absolute low. On her own, she’s no danger. But if the wizard gets a hold of her…”

Salem shook her eyes, taking a sip of her tea.

“He may be able to find a way to…” She paused, for a second.  _ “Replicate,  _ that quality. That… that would be dangerous.”

Cinder nodded faintly. She looked down at her own mug, watching the swirling of the light brown liquid as faint steam rose from the top.

“In any case,” Salem continued after a moment. “The Belladonna girl is approaching Mistral. Our influence on her is faint, but the seed is sowed. She has the ring. Once Yang arrives, Adam will have his way, and our Faunus girl will strike.”

Salem smiled that same maternal smile Cinder had seen so many times.

“And then, so will I.”

Cinder looked up. She opened her mouth, only for a cough to come through. Salem looked to her and reached forward. A pale hand found its way to Cinder’s knee, squeezing and rubbing gently.

“Breathe, my dear,” she said. “Just breathe.”

Slowly, Cinder recovered. She forced breaths in and out, taking another hot sip of tea to diminish the pain. After a while, her voice returned to her enough to speak.

“Where… where is Yang, now?” Cinder asked tentatively.

She still had no clue what the significance of the blonde was, to Salem’s plan. Whatever it was, it seemed sizeable. They learned how valuable her sister— Ruby, a name that failed to pass through Cinder’s mind without inciting hatred— was to Ozpin’s plan, once they discovered she possessed the Silver Eyes. The elder sister seemed to possess a similar importance to Salem. But the witch never had quite explained why. Not to Cinder, at the very least. 

“She’s progressing down the path we expected, although…” Salem trailed off.

Cinder leaned in slightly.

“Although…?”

“She seems to be taking a… detour, of sorts,” Salem continued. “A search for her dearest, long-lost mother… Raven Branwen.”

Cinder sat up more erect than before.

“Raven… is Yang’s mother?”

“Yes, she is,” Salem nodded, smiling. “But of course, she never told you she had a daughter, did she?”

“No…” Cinder answered in low, almost hushed voice. “She didn’t.”

“That fails to surprise me,” Salem yawned. “But no matter. Our dear Yang had progressed down our predicted path quicker than anticipated. There have been some factors that we had not considered.”

Cinder furrowed her brow.

“Like what?”

“Nothing worth worrying about,” Salem said. “A girl— disguised as a lover, it seems. But the two are separated now. It appears they had some degree of… disagreement, of some type.”

“A lover…” Cinder muttered to herself. “Neo?”

Salem’s eyes narrowed.

“Who?”

Cinder’s eye shot up. It was wide, and she swallowed heavily. A shiver of fear came through her and down her spine.

“I…” Cinder bowed her head. “She was… an… an…”

Bone-white, slender fingers wrapped around Cinder’s chin, pushing her head up straight. Salem stared into Cinder’s face, a powerful stern expression in her ivory-skinned face.

“Look at me when you speak to me,” Salem said.

Cinder nodded and swallowed again.

“She was an… associate, we made… during our time at Beacon…”

Salem showed her teeth, not quite scowling.

“You never told me of another girl,” Salem hissed. “I only ever gave you permission for Marcus Black’s son and the Sustrai girl… never a third.”

“I… She…” Cinder struggled through her words, flustered. “She was Roman’s prodige… She stuck with us when… when he was captured.”

“And you never told me of this… because?” Salem grew closer to Cinder’s face.

“I… I…” Cinder’s voice was failing her.

“Don’t excuse yourself now, Cinder,” Salem said coldly. “You disobeyed me. There must have been a reason why.”

“She…” Cinder took a deep breath. “She was useful… she helped us with our plan… because I promised her Roman’s survival if she did.”

“Torchwick’s use had been spent,” Salem said, almost questioningly. “His only purpose left was the spread of chaos.”

“She… she didn’t know that.”

Salem leaned back slightly. She paused, thinking a moment. Her fingers remained on Cinder’s chin, holding her in place, as she looked off at the amethyst pillars along the walls. 

“I see…”

She looked back at Cinder, smiling gently.

“That was clever of you, dearest Cinder,” she leaned forward, pulling Cinder even close. “And while I wish you’d told me…”

She stood, tilting Cinder’s head backward slightly. She pulled Cinder as close as could be, without touching Salem’s body. Her chin was nearly up against the fabric of Salem’s robes at her stomach. Her eyes were pointed upward, past Salem’s breast, at her cold, porcelain face. Cinder’s cheeks began to flood red from blushing.

“I cannot help but commend your manipulation of her,” she said through a venomous smile. “You’re learning well, aren’t you, dearest Cinder?”

Cinder could respond. There was little enough will in her to muster a nod, and she felt Salem’s dark clothing brush her chin gently. The red in her cheeks grew redder.

“I’m proud of you, Cinder,” she said. “Soon enough, you’ll be back at your strength once more.”

She grinned wide, and foul.

“And by then, we will have new toys to play with…”

 

— — — 

 

Yang awoke to a shout— her own shout, to be precise. Throwing the sheet from her lap, she sat up quickly and nearly fell off the side of the bed. No, the couch. She was laying on a couch, in a living room. There was a coffee table sitting a few feet to her right, and a fireplace sitting a few feet further. The room was warm, comfortable— and Yang’s panting breaths and darting eyes didn’t make it any less so. Still, she didn’t know where she was. She didn’t know how she got there. She didn’t even know how long she’d been there. All fair reasons to be panicked. So she remained panicked.

Turning to her left, she saw the frosted windows that gazed out into white nothingness. There were soft pine-green drapes pulled over, far enough to obscure all but the center-most section of the windows. The wood-log window sills were carved delicately and elegantly, which struck Yang as odd when compared to the rather simple style of the cabin walls. Still, she didn’t linger on it too long. She was starting to remember. Throwing her legs over the edge of the couch, she rose to her feet— only to nearly drop to the floor. Her feet felt dull and numb, and her knees were weary and aching. She was able to catch herself on the arm of the couch, slowly regaining her balancing and pushing herself back up straight. Only now did she notice her missing clothing. Her jacket, shirt, scarf— all gone, along with her boots, her belt, her gloves, and her lucky purple handkerchief. All she was left wearing was her black tights and a sports bra. Looking around, there was still no one in sight— but obviously she wasn’t alone.

Things were coming back to her now. She’d broken in— no, she’d been on the verge of breaking in, when the door opened. Someone had opened it. But who? Where were they? And where the hell had they put her clothes?

She began to walk, slowly and carefully, maintaining her balance so far. The cabin was more cluttered than she’d originally thought. The shelves were covered in random assortments of junk and nick-nacks. There was a wooden bird bobbing its head in and out of a cup of water, sitting on the railing by the stairs. Right next to those stairs, a hallway into the rest of the first floor. She approached it as silently as possible, her bare feet pressing softly into the carpet. There was a faint smell of something warm— food, something cooking. And it was coming from right down the hallway. As she approached, the smell grew stronger. More distinct. Some sort of meat… Turkey? And something else. Something baked. Pie? The carpet ended, and her feet touched hardwood floor. The moment the balls of her foot pressed down, the plank began to sink. It board creaked as it went down, loud and distinctive in the silent cabin— joining the faint sound of wind outside as the only noise to be heard. 

Yang bit her tongue and cringed. Frozen, she waited. Someone had to have heard that.

And she was proven right not a few seconds later.

The sound of steps came, building one step at a time, moving towards her down the hallway. It was a knocking sound, of boots against wood. The planks creaked with every press of the soles. Yang readied herself. Ember Celica may have been missing from her left wrist, but it was built into her right. Even in the flare of instinct and adrenaline, she was careful not to arm it just yet. If she could avoid tipping off that she was aware of them, maybe they wouldn’t come out swinging. She didn’t even know if they were hostile yet, anyway, but it wasn’t like she was giving that part much thought. Here they come.

Around the corner, came a tall, gruff looking man. Brown-ginger hair came down to his neck, and a thick beard of the same color hung just below his chin. A red, plaid flannel and long, dark blue pants gave him a distinct lumberjack look. He looked at her, seeing her low down in a fighting stance, and grinned.

“I see someone’s awake,” he said.

His voice sounded exactly like he looked.

“Who the hell are you?” She said.

“Could ask you the same thing,” he answered, rubbing his hands with the rag he carried in his right. “Comin’ bangin’ on my door and whatnot.”  
He threw the rag over his shoulder and gestured towards the window.

“Durin’ the biggest blizzard I’ve seen in years, no less.”

“Where are my clothes?” She said, staying ready and low.

“Laundry,” he said. “Awful wet. From the snow, of course.”

She stared at him, keeping her eyes pinned to his face. She watched his every subtle movement. There were no weapons on his person, it seemed, but still. She had to be prepared.

“What’s got you so spooked?”

“Nothing much,” she said through grit teeth. “Just nearly naked in some strangers house.”

“You got pants,” he shrugged. “I haven’t seen nothin’. I’m not that kinda guy.”

He smiled.

“Don’t do nothin’ without permission.”

“Forgive me for not being convinced,” she spat.

“Not like I could do much if I wanted to,” he said. “You were burning hot when I touched you. Felt like I was gonna catch on fire just takin’ your jacket off.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Awful mighty semblance, that is,” he went on. “Burn a man’s… well, never mind.”

“Sure,” she said, eyes like slits. “If I was so hot, don’t you think my clothes would dry on their own?”

He shrugged again.

“Don’t know,” he said. “Looked nearly taken by the frostbite. Wasn’t sure if leavin’ frosted clothes on you would help much.”

“You’re not making it easy to trust you, y’know,” she said.

He laughed.

“And you are?” He nodded at her. “Tryna break into my house, wearin’ that arm around? Normal person woulda tried to take that off you, y’know. No tellin’ what that thing’s packin’.”

That was true. She didn’t relax completely, but she hesitated. He may not have  _ known  _ there was a weapon in it, but it stood to reason that he could  _ guess  _ there is one. And he’s standing in front of her, defenseless, completely at a disadvantage. Reasonably, Yang could easily walk right through him right now. So… maybe he  _ was  _ just a good Samaritan, after all.

“You know, I always thought semblances were somethin’ great,” he said. “Yours seems somethin’ special in particular.”

“Thanks…” She was still in a low stance, but her arms were dropping slowly.

“Never had one myself, so I’ve always been impressed by ‘em.”

“You don’t have one?”

“Nope,” he shook his head. “Never had one of these auras, or whatever, either. But it’s alright. I make up for in other ways.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“How so?”

He smiled.

“Exceptional cookin’,” he said. “C’mon, I thought I’d fix up some dinner, so come help yourself. Plenty of it.”

He started walking towards the hallway, again. Yang started to stand up straight, still a faint tension left in her body. Just before turning the corner, he stopped and looked back at her again. He motioned with his head to follow.

“C’mon,” he said. “It don’t bite.”

Then he was off down the hallway.

Yang sighed, dropping her arms to her side. On the one hand, this guy seemed… odd. But on the other hand, he didn’t necessarily seem dangerous. Maybe… maybe she could trust him, just a little. She had her right arm, still, so if he tried something she could always bring him down. And if he’s telling the truth about having no aura, then it wouldn’t be particularly difficult to do so. Finally, after much deliberation, she shook her head and followed him down the hall.

Eventually, she found herself in the kitchen. It was much like the rest of the cabin, log walls and wooden floors, glass windows with carved sills and green drapes. The counters and cabinets were wood, just like everything else, although there was a metal stove and over. Coming from it was that warm, pastry smell she had noticed earlier. In the middle of the kitchen was a fine, wooden table, with a metal platter on top. A cooked turkey sat atop the platter, well made and appetizing. Only upon seeing the turkey, did Yang realize just how hungry she was. A loud, monstrous grumbling came from her stomach. She took a step toward the table, hesitating before the seat. He was standing across from her, on the other side of the table, waiting for her to sit. She looked up at him, and he smiled again.

“Go ahead,” he said.

Carefully, she pulled the chair out and took her seat. He followed suit shortly thereafter. Taking a knife and fork in his hand, he carved into the turkey and placed a hefty serving on a plate. Then, he passed the plate across to her. Once again, she hesitated.

“C’mon, it’s alright,” he said. “Promise my cooking’ is good.”

She sighed and took the plate. With her own fork and knife, she started to cut. Then she started to eat. First, just a bite. Then a second. Then a third, larger than before. And then, before she knew it, she was inhaling the whole serving and cleaning her plate. Well, he wasn’t lying. It was an excellent turkey.

“See? Told ya.”

She nodded, nearly breaking a smile.

“Mind if I have more?”

“Go right ahead,” he said.

As she served herself, he watched her and ate his own food.

“So,” he said. “I never caught your name.”

She hesitated, at first. As good as his food was, did she really trust him  _ that  _ much?

“Polly,” Yang responded, after a moment. It was just the first name she thought of, she tried not to read too much into it.

“Well, Polly,” he smiled. “I’m Hans. A pleasure to meet you.”

She nodded.

“You too.”

“So,” he went on. “What brings a lone young girl like yourself out here in the middle of nowhere?”

“Just…” she shrugged. “Just passing through.”

Hans laughed.

“Passin’ through, huh? Not much to pass through around here, is there?”

“Guess not,” she said, eating more slowly. 

“So where’re you headed, then?”

“Mistral,” she answered.

“What for?”

“I’m, uh…” She thought a second. “A student. At Haven.”

“Hmm,” he nodded. “So what brought you out here, then? Where’re you comin’ from?”

“Vale,” she said. “Visiting family.”

“Ah,” he nodded. “Supportin’ ‘em after the fall, eh?”

“Yeah,” she hesitated before answering.

“Just tragic,” he shook his head. “So terrible. Who would do somethin’ like that?”

She just shrugged.

“Don’t know,” she said, trying her best not to think about the fact that she did.

“Well, whoever did it,” he went on, taking a bite of his own food. “I hope someone brings ‘em in. Just awful, doin’ somethin’ like that.”

“Yeah.”

They sat silently, for a few moments. Just sitting there, eating. It felt like they were sizing one another up— although something gave Yang the impression that Hans wasn’t sizing her up for a fight. She wasn’t sure what it was about him, but that’s the feeling she had. And she wasn’t sure what he was sizing her up for, then.

After a while, he stood and looked down at her.

“How ‘bout desert, then?”

“Huh?” She looked up at him.

“Dessert,” he said, smiling. “Only thing better than my cookin’ is my bakin’.”

He turned, walking over to the oven and opening it up. Putting on an oven mit, he pulled a large, round pie out of the oven. It looked perfect, like the quintessential pie. One of those pies that only appear in picture books. The ones that you wouldn’t want to eat because of how perfect they looked, and you wouldn’t want to ruin the presentation. But then again, it looked so perfect that you just  _ had  _ to have some, no matter what.

He carried it over and put it on the table in between them. Taking off the mit, he took out a serving knife and began to cut it. He put a piece onto a plate, and put it directly in front of Yang.

“Blueberry pie,” he said. “My mother’s old recipe. Just with a couple of little secret changes.”

She looked down at it, and her mouth felt like it was watering. No, her mouth  _ was  _ watering. It was just so appetizing.

“Help yourself,” he said, serving himself.

She looked up at him, then back down at the pie, the back up at him. He smiled at her again. 

“I told ya already, it don’t bite.”

He took his fork and took a small piece from the tip, raising it to his lips. First, he sniffed it once, then put it in his mouth. Yang soon followed suit. And it tasted as good as it looked.

“I’ve always thought semblances were so special,” he said as she ate. “Just somethin’ so incredible about them.”

She nodded, hardly paying him any mind as she tore through her pie. It was just  _ perfect. _

“Some big, some small, some strong, some weak… But they’re all just so magical.”

She was barely listening anymore. She couldn’t even really tell what he was saying, the pie was just so good.

“Always sorta wished I had one,” he went on. “But, ah, I never wanted to go to none of those schools. Always seemed so stifling, y’know?”

She could barely hear him. The world was almost spinning. She was  _ dizzy _ , the pie was so incredible.

“But, well,” he sighed. “Like I said…”

Suddenly, she saw her plate. As if she was looking at it before, but she wasn’t really  _ seeing it.  _ Not until now. And it was empty. How long had it been empty? She looked up at him.

The world was still spinning. The pie was gone, and the world was still spinning around her. Fast, faster. She couldn’t hear anything. Well, she could, but she didn’t understand it. What had he said? What was he saying?

“I make up for it in other ways,” he said with a grin.

The world stopped spinning. She couldn’t hear at all, anymore. Just a ringing. Hands raised his napkin to his mouth, and spit his bite of pie back out into it. He smiled at her once more, and then she felt herself slump.

And then the world was black.


	20. Always Something

**XX**

**_Always Something_ **

— — —  

_“What's the bravest thing you ever did?_

_He spat in the road a bloody phlegm._

_Getting up this morning, he said.”_

_— — —_

Yang just couldn’t catch a break, could she?

There always had to be _something._

One after another, something always came up. Something always had to go and get in the way. Anytime things seemed to be going good, going right, going _different,_ something always had to show up and ruin everything. It always had to fall apart, didn’t it? No matter how good it was starting to feel, there always had to be something.

First, she was having a great time at Beacon. That was great. She had friends— real friends, not fake people she hung out with just to pretend to be less lonely than she really was. Even better, she had friends who made her less lonely. And she had a good thing going with a girl, too. Well, at least she thought she did. But then she went and got in a fight with her best friend and partner, and her girlfriend broke up with her, and then the entire fucking school burned to the ground, she lost her arm, and some of her friends _died._ Great. There goes that. 

Then, she’s finally starting to recover. Really starting to feel better, y’know? The girl came back, even if she was… different, than how she remembered her… But still. And she got a new arm. She was actually getting back to her old self. Hell, she was starting to feel _better_ than her old self, maybe. She built herself her new arm, sailed across an ocean, killed a giant sea monster and swam the rest of the way to the shore, and was back in fighting shape. She was even starting to feel a connection with Polly again. And then… well. No need to talk about that anymore.

And now, she was getting close. She was _actually_ getting close to finding her mother. For the first time in her eighteen years of life— eighteen stupid, frustrating, obnoxious years of her dumb, lonely life— she was _finally_ gonna find her mother. After all those years of searching, she was _right there._ Probably just a few miles away. Maybe less. Probably less, knowing her luck. She _would_ get that close, only to be torn away. Wouldn’t she? Because she was so close, _so_ close and then this. Nearly freezing to death, only to wake up in a strange man’s house with barely any clothes on, and then getting poisoned or whatever by his baking, and finally waking up again— this time in a bed, with her wrists tied together to the headboard and her ankles tied together to the foot of the bed frame and a gag in her mouth. And then—

Well, she would find out what was going to happen next soon enough.

As if on cue, the door began to open slowly. And in he walked. _Hans._ She wasn’t exactly sure what happened, most recently. Her memories were hazy. Nothing was totally clear. But she knew one thing for sure— she fucking _hated_ that Hans. And if she got the chance— well, the things she wanted to do to him were not particularly appropriate. Maybe she would start with his—

“Someone’s finally awake,” he said, grinning.

Gods, she wanted to smash his teeth in. She tried arming Ember Celica inside her metal arm. It just clicked quietly. Shit. Somehow, he’d managed to unload it.

He came in, carrying a metal tray. There was a metal dome, like a serving platter, sitting on the tray. Next to it was a small glass jar with a blue-ish liquid. Beside the bottle was a clear syringe. He walked up beside the bed and placed the tray on the nightstand. He sat on the bed beside her, taking the syringe and the bottle off the tray. He stuck the syringe in the bottle, pulling it back.

“Let’s make sure we keep that aura of yours in check, yeah?”

He pulled out the syringe, flicked it, and squirted some of the liquid out. Then he reached out and gripped her face, pushing her head to one side. There was a faint pinch in her neck as the syringe entered, and he pushed the liquid inside of her. After holding it there for a moment, he pulled the syringe away and placed it back on the tray with the bottle.

“Good, good,” he smiled. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

She glared at him. She couldn’t tell, since she obviously couldn’t see herself, but if she had to guess then she would assume her eyes were red. Just a second later, he confirmed her suspicions.

“That’s some fancy eyes of yours, aren’t they?” He grinned. “Never seen nothin’ like that before.”

He started to lean in.

“Maybe…” He got closer, closer, closer still. Yang did her best to pull away, but she was limited by the cuffs that held her down. 

“Maybe you’re the one,” he said. 

He got closer, until the tip of his nose touched her hair. She could feel as he inhaled, sniffing her slowly and loudly. It almost made her puke. Apparently, he could tell.

“Oh, come on, now,” he said. “Don’t be so dramatic. This will all work out, I think.”

He reached forward, squeezing her cheeks together in his fingers. He forced her to turn to face him. A pair of awful, unfeeling, dark brown eyes stared into her. 

“You wanna do as your told?” He said. “It’ll be easier if you do.”

She responded by trying to bash his nose with her forehead. Unfortunately, he leaned back in time.

“Ho ho, still feisty, eh?” He laughed. “Well, that’s alright. Didn’t expect you to fold so easy, anyways. Woulda been disappointed if you had.”

She shook around, trying to break free. But the binds were much too tight.

“I know what you need,” he said, turning and reaching towards the nightstand.

He took the metal dome from the platter, revealing a slice of pie. He lifted it and brought it over to her, bringing it close to her face. Close enough to smell it. It was still warm.

“Looks tasty, don’t it?”

It did. Yang couldn’t explain it, but she wanted it. She wanted it so badly. And she knew she shouldn’t eat it. She knew what happened last time. She wasn’t hungry. It wasn’t like she needed it. And she didn’t even really want to eat it. But there was something that felt the desire for it. Just for a bite of that pie. Just a bite. Just _one_ bite.

“This one won’t knock you out,” he said. “Promise.”

He brought it closer and closer. Yang fought to resist the urge to lean forward. It got closer and closer, until she could practically taste it. Until it was so close that—

He pulled it away.

“I know you want it,” he said. “And you can have it… all you gotta do is just do as you’re told.”

No. This was a trick. There was something— she couldn’t explain it, but there was something— about that pie. Something tricking her. She was stronger than this. She wouldn’t let him control her. He _couldn’t_ control her. Putting everything she had into it, she fought. She resisted the urge, shook herself through it. And she persevered. 

The pie had grown closer to her face.

“Go on,” he said, grinning. “Know you want it…”

Hans reached out with his other hand and carefully loosened her gag, letting it drop to her neck. The rope hung over her chest like some sort of cheap necklace. She leaned in close. Close enough that it nearly could touch her lips. And then she looked up and spit in his eyes. He leaned back in surprise, blinking.

“You filthy—”

She didn’t give him the chance to finish. Lunging forward, she opened her mouth and bit down on his fingers, clamping down and locking her jaw tight. 

“Fuck!” He cried out in pain. 

Writhing, he tried with his free hand to push her off. But it was going to take a lot. It wasn’t going to satisfy her until she took off a finger or two. Unfortunately, she couldn’t get it done. There was stunning pain in her temple as his fist clocked her in the side of her head. It knocked her sideways, held up still by her binds, and free his hand. Blood was seeping from it, and he gripped it tightly.

“Bitch!”

Some of the blood dribbled down her chin, onto her chest and her belly.

“I’ll show you a—”

He launched forward suddenly. There was a slam as her head smacked against the bed frame, hard. Without her aura, it dazed her long enough for her to force the gag back into her mouth. Keeping his bloodied hand close, he pointed at her with his other. He seemed careful not to point it too close, even with the gag over her mouth again.

“You… you need to learn some manners, missy,” he spoke harshly. 

He pulled his finger away and looked down at the mess that was his right hand. The blood was sinking into the fabric of his pants, staining them deep red like the plaid flannel shirt he wore. Another cold drop of blood dripped onto her chest.

“I hoped you’d behave,” he said, looking back up at her. “But I guess you just wanna spend the night down below, don’t you?”

She snarled at him through the gag.

“Quite, girlie,” he said, and smacked her hard across the cheek. 

She stared back at him, eyes red and burning. But he paid it no mind, reaching down and undoing the binds that keep her legs strapped to the bed. They were still tied together at the ankle, but she could raise them together. Kicking up with them, she tried to knock and push him away. He ignored her well enough. Next, he freed her cuffs from the headboard. Again, still tied together, but she could try to hammer them down against him as hard as she could. Which she did. Tied together, though, she couldn’t do much. He kept out of the way of her flailing and grabbed her by the hair, tossing her to the ground off the bed.

“You’re a naughty, ungrateful little girl,” he said. “But it’s alright. You’ll learn soon enough.”

Reaching down, he grabbed her by the hair again. He dragged her upwards, forcing her to try and balance on her bound feet. He pushed her along, making her hop and stumble forward, until they reached the steps. Then he grabbed her hair and pulled her down the stairs behind her. Screaming at him through her gag, she tried everything she could— to no avail. She was helpless, at the moment, and until her aura started to come back, it would stay that way. So her only choice was to make this as hard for him as possible.

“Now, if you’re—” 

He started to speak, but he was interrupted. Kicking out her feet at the bottom of the steps, she threw herself headfirst into his back. It took them both crashing down to the floor, him face first, and her cushioned by his body. They bounced when they landed, and she rolled onto the floor. Gritting his teeth, he grunted and forced himself back to his feet.

“I’m runnin’ out of patience, you dumb—”

He tried to step on her back, but she rolled to her side again right before he settled. It threw off his balance, and tripped forward overtop of her, slamming face-first into the floor again. He shouted and cursed, spitting a faint bit of blood onto the floor. Throwing a look back at her first, he turned and grabbed her by the scalp again.

“You’re makin’ this harder than it has to be,” he said, pulling her over. “Makin’ a real mess.”

She tried to shake free, but his grip was too tight.

“Don’t worry,” he said, pushing her face into the small pool of blood on the floorboards. “You’ll clean that up, later.”

She kicked and flailed at him some more, but he stood and held fast. Dragging her towards the kitchen, he stopped halfway down the hallway. There was a door there, and he reached forward and undid the deadbolt. When he pulled it open, darkness greeted them. Yanking her forwards, he pushed her face towards the doorway.

“Last chance,” he said. “You wanna behave?”

She answered by kicking her legs against his shin as hard as she could. He clenched his jaws and bore it. 

“Well,” he said, “you brought this on yourself, missy.”

And he threw her forwards, down the steps, where she tumbled and rolled until she felt herself get rocked into the hard, concrete floor, and heard the door slam hard above her. The deadbolt clicked, and there was silence.

 

— — — 

 

Silence is impermanent, though. Just as all things were. Nothing was ever permanent. Never. That was the only constant in the entire world. The only permanent thing. Impermanence. 

That was the permanent part of Yang’s life. That nothing was ever permanent. That nothing ever lasted. These were thoughts she’d already articulated to herself, at least internally. And recently, too. Just a couple hours ago, in fact. When she first found herself waking up, inexplicably tied down to a bed. But she found herself thinking it again, it seemed. Now that she was trapped in a cold, dark basement. That was the other permanent part of her life, she guessed. When things are bad, they always find a way to get worse. Things go from bad to worse, real quick. It was almost impressive how fast it could happen. And how frequently it felt like it came to pass. The way things could always get worse. Maybe that was the bright side of this all. It could always be worse… No. No, that wasn’t a bright side. Because if things could get worse, then, well… they probably would. And worse than this? Well. Yang was starting to think that rock bottom didn’t exist. 

While she was wondering how things could possibly get worse from here, that was when she was reminded the impermanence of silence. There was a noise— soft, slow movement. Not quite gentle, not quite methodical. But they certainly weren’t rushed. They were almost… laborious. Like the source was struggling to get itself to move. There was a clinking noise, and Yang could hear the vague sound of something swinging in the air. Like a thin string of some kind— metal, judging by the aforementioned clinking. A few more times, it swung then clinked. Swing, clink. It happened long enough for Yang to nearly pinpoint the exact direction it came from. Then, right before she had settled her guess, there was a click, and light flooded the room. Dim light, but harsh and briefly blinding regardless. After a moment of her eyes adjusting, Yang looked up again.

Sitting a few feet away from her, another young woman was in the basement with her. There was rope binds around her wrists, and her ankles were tied together like Yangs— although there seemed to be a tad bit more slack to her binds than Yang’s. She was kneeling on the concrete, sitting beneath the chain of a ceiling lamp as it swung gently overhead. Perhaps ceiling lamp was too generous. It was a lightbulb, attached to one of the wooden beams that were on the low basement ceiling. It flickered, dimming and brightening seemingly at random, filling the room with an off-white glow that seemed more like a sickly pale yellow. The woman— whose auburn hair was long and uncut— simply stared at Yang silently, for a few moments. Despite the filth, she seemed relatively well kept, as though she hadn’t been down in this basement particularly long. There was some dust on her clothes, and a line of dirt across her right cheek. The side she slept on, most likely. It truth, the woman was rather pretty.

After a short while, she took a heavy, deep breath. There was a sadness in it, like a step beyond a sigh.

“So he’s found another one,” she said sadly. “I suppose this will be it, then.”

Yang tilted her head at the woman, unable to speak through her gag still.

“I guess you’re a real specimen,” she sighed. “If he’s decided to move on to you. I wonder, what’s your semblance?”

Yang grunted through the gag.

“I know, I know,” she shook her head. “I’d introduce myself, but… to be honest, I’d rather you not know my name. If you’re gonna remember me by this, I don’t want that connected to the woman I used to be.”

Yang started to push herself off the ground, but she stumbled forward through her binds. Landing on the hard floor, she let out a frustrated shout into the gag.

“I’d tell you not to waste your energy, but there’s no point,” the woman seemed to answer. “This is how we all are, when we first arrive. You’ll settle down soon enough. Struggling only tends to make things worse.”

Yang glared up at her. If there wasn’t something she wasn’t interested in hearing right now, it was the cries of a defeatist. She’d come this far without dying. This wasn’t going to end here.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’re a real killer. You’re a huntress, I imagine?”

Yang nodded, biting the gag.

“Well, that doesn’t matter so much here,” she went on. “His act is convincing, but it’s only an act. He’s smarter than you think he is. And he’s outsmarted plenty of us before. You’re no different, you’ll get over yourself eventually.”

Yang raised an eyebrow. So this woman had been a huntress?

“Yes, I was huntress,” she said. 

It was like she could read her mind. 

“That’s because I can.”

_Wait— what?_

The woman sighed, shaking her head slowly. 

“You a real sherlock, aren’t you?” She said, then nodded. “My semblance is mind reading. I can see your thoughts, so long as they’re related to me.”

That’s…

“Useful? I know, I thought so too. Even works without my aura,” she said, then sighed once more. “Well, when you’re overwhelmed by a herd of Grimm and barely escape, you drop unconscious the moment you get a respite. And if he finds you like that, well, the needle will go in your arm immediately. So it didn’t matter much, when I was already defenseless.”

So he’d done this before. That meant that he’d tried to stick Yang when she first showed up, and then… what? He said her semblance had made her temperature flare up, so maybe the needle wasn’t working on her. That’s why he’d needed her to eat.

“Yes, he’s done this before. Obviously,” she said. “And I didn’t hear what you thought after that, so I suppose it didn’t pertain to me.”

_No, it didn’t_ pertain _to you._

“Too bad,” she said. “I’d like to have a chat with someone, for once. It’s… it’s been so long.”

_How long have you been here?_

“I…” She paused, thinking. “I’m not sure, anymore. I think I messed up and lost track specifically around five months in, but I probably stopped counting entirely after around ten. So a while, I guess.”

Then she looked up.

“What year is it out there?” She asked, then shook her head. “I guess you can’t answer that. Doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with me.”

Then she sighed again.

“I guess you’ll want to know what he’s planning on doing, wouldn’t you?”

Yang nodded.

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “He’s a regular bastard, I suppose. Crazy, too. Absolutely delusional. Illusions of grandeur, I think they call them.”

Yang raised an eyebrow.

“He thinks he’s some sort of… I don’t know, gift from the heavens, or something. He’s convinced he’s meant to pass down his bloodline. He thinks he needs the _strongest_ partner, or something, that most women aren’t _mighty_ enough to mate with him. That we’re too weak to bear his children.”

She shrugged.

“Guess he can’t accept that he’s infertile.”

A look of horror came across Yang’s face. Feelings of absolute disgust washed over her, and she didn’t think this woman would need her mind-reading to sense that.

“Yeah… he’s a real treat, isn’t he?” She said, grimacing painfully. “And he thinks he’s some sort of gentlemen about it, too. Doesn’t like to force himself on us. I guess he thinks that soils his _girls,_ or something.”

_What does he do then?_

No, rephrase that.

_What did he do to you?_

“He just holds things over you,” she answered. “Things you want. Things you need. I assume he’s tried it on you, by this point.”

The pie… Yang wondered if it was actually enchanted or whatever, or if she was just so hungry that it tasted like it was. 

“And he won’t give them to you,” she went on. “Not until you do as he says. Not until he gets what you want. And at first, you resist. You really try. You think you won’t submit. That you won’t let him demean you, like that. But, well… you need to eat, eventually.”

The woman lowered her head, slightly. There was a tinge of shame, in her face. Yang felt sick.

_It’s not your fault._

“Yeah… yeah, you tell yourself that,” she said. Then she looked up at Yang, straight in her eyes. “But that doesn’t make it any less horrible.”

A sinking sensation began to overwhelm Yang. A puddle of disgust and nausea, pooling in the bottom of her gut and making her queasy. This man, this Hans… he was worse than she thought. He was sick. Sick beyond what she would have imagined. Then, overtop of the dizzy, off-color feelings she was experienced, something burned above. A flame roused in her, rising up towards the top of her skin and the tips of her fingers and the ends of her hair. She had decided she wasn’t going to submit. 

So she wasn’t going to submit.

Not to him, and not to anyone else

Because she said so.

Just then, there was a sound from the top of the steps. The deadbolt moved, and the door clicked as it opened.

The woman looked up towards the door.

“Here he comes.”

Boots pounded slowly down the steps, one by one. Yang couldn’t see him, but she could hear him. The weight in his movement as he came closer and closer. Until she could hear his breath and smell his sweat. He came into view. There were white wrappings tied around his hand, where she’d bit him. A bandage was on his face as well, right beside his nose where he’d fell. He stared at Yang, then grinned.

“You’ll be ready to come up soon, I think,” he said, then he came over and caressed her hair roughly. “Won’t you, sweetheart?”

She pulled herself away and tried to throw herself against his leg, but he pushed her away towards the ground. 

“Now, now,” he said. “Let’s behave ourselves, why don’t we?”

He turned away from her after that, looking towards the woman. She looked up at him, tiredness in her eyes.

“Hello, dear,” he said to her.

“Skip the pleasantries, please,” she spoke coldly to him.

“Alright, alright,” he said, sighing. “I did enjoy your company, you know. A shame that you weren’t born for me.”

He took her by the arm, raising her to her feet and guiding her along. As he walked past, he pulled the string of the light down, sealing away all light aside from the faint shine of the open door at the top of the steps. She was wobbling in her bound feet, but she had enough movement to stay upright. He nudged and pulled her towards the steps, leading her up them and towards the door.

Was he… letting her go?

The woman looked back at Yang, right then. She gave her a sorrowful, pained look, before vanishing up the steps into the house above them. Yang sat there in the darkness, by herself now. Not sure what exactly for, she waited. She waited, expectantly. The door shut above her, but still she waited. She listened, carefully. There was nothing, at first. Nothing to be heard at all, other than the faint howls of wind above. They reminded her of how cold she was, and she felt herself begin to shiver. Still, shivering down there in the cellar, tied up and alone, she waited. She waited, and waited, and waited. And then, she learned what she had waited for. 

There was the bang of a gunshot, and the thump of something falling. A body. And Yang was fairly certain it wasn’t Hans.

Silence wasn’t the only thing that was impermanent. Company was, too. Now, it was gone. And silence had found its way back.

 

— — — 

 

Yang remained alone in the dark for a long time. How long exactly, she wasn’t sure of, since there was no real way to check the time. But it felt like a while. A long, drawn-out while, with nothing to do but struggle against her binds and shout into her gag, hoping that something good would happen. After a while she fell asleep, exhausted from her squirming and fighting. She had no idea what time it was at that point. And when she woke up, it was still dark. There was still nothing other than the hopeless, empty black room, not even her own shadow there to keep her company. It was tiring, being this alone. Being so trapped, so helpless. Nothing to do, nowhere to go, nothing to say. All she could do was wait. Wait and hope. Hope that maybe her binds would give eventually. Hope that maybe her aura would come back sooner rather than later. She had no idea how long she was going to be without it. It should come back. Shouldn’t it? That was why he had poked her with the needle, after he’d already fed that aura draining food to her. Because he had to make sure it didn’t come back. Right? So how long was she going to have to wait?

How long had she been waiting?

Who knows? Who knows.

She had dragged herself over to the steps to the first floor. It took her a while to find them, in the dark cellar, but she found them eventually. She knew it was the stairs. She could tell by the way they creaked when she pressed on them. Even though she couldn’t exactly climb up them, very well. But she waited by the foot of the bottom step, struggling against her binds and trying to prop herself up against them. 

She almost felt relieved when she heard the door open above her. When she felt the cool rays of snowy skylight beaming down onto her through the window at the top of the steps.

Almost.

The stairs seemed to screech as Hans stepped down them one by one, getting closer to Yang with every step. She snarled at him through her gag, but he seemed to pay it no mind. When he grabbed her by the hair again, she tried to throw her weight back and flip him down the steps. Instead, he just stood like a rock and held firm to her scalp. Turned out, Yang didn’t weigh very much when she didn’t have her aura to back her up.

“C’mon, missy,” he said to her, grinning. “Enough time cold and alone down here. Let’s see if we can get you in proper order.”

In a matter of seconds, she found herself being dragged back into the bedroom. The more she saw of the cabin, the more she realized that this place just wasn’t right. It was so meticulously crafted, and yet it was also so sparsely decorated. Barren, almost. It was like someone had built a beautiful cabin for themselves, and then only brought in the absolute bare necessities for living there. Yang wouldn’t have been surprised if the place didn’t have running water. It was a miracle that it had electricity. Also, Yang was pretty sure the bedroom she’d been in before wasn’t _the_ bedroom. More like _a_ bedroom. A guest room, of some kind. Which she guessed wasn’t entirely unusual, but… well, if this was gonna be how she was treated in the guest room, she wanted to stay as far away as possible from the master bedroom. 

Luckily— in the loosest possible meaning of the word— she found herself back in the guest room soon enough. It was warmer upstairs. Heat from the fireplace had risen towards the ceiling, so the second floor was fairly toasty. It was a welcome change from the drafty, concrete floor of the cellar. But that was the bright side. And it was the bright side of a very dark situation, so Yang wasn’t too happy just because she felt a little warmer. Frankly, she probably would’ve rather be trapped in a freezer by herself then spend her evening in the nicest of temperature with this… _bastard._ This _rat._ This _pig,_ this… no. None of those were right. It was insulting to pigs. And to rats. And to all the fatherless in the world. And that just wasn’t fair. No, this man, he was something different. On some other level of shit and trash, among the ranks of the filthiest and the dirtiest. He was a part of a select, small few, the ones that _truly_ made Yang’s skin crawl. 

And he kept _touching her hair._

Hans let go of her, letting her drop to the hardwood floor of the guest bedroom. While she was on the floor, he came up from behind and squatted over her back. There was a pinching sensation in her arm, in the same spot the needle had entered before. Throwing a burning glare back at him, she swore she could almost feel her aura receding back into her all over again. 

“Aw, don’t be so grumpy,” he said through a sickening smile. “I have gifts for you, anyway.”

Suddenly, she felt the binds on her ankles being undone. A few moments later, her feet were separate again and she had free motion of her legs. Right after that, she felt hands on her wrists. After a brief few seconds, the binds tying her hands together behind her back loosened and slipped away, and she was entirely unbound. Other than the gag.

The moment this came to pass, she swung around and threw a wild left haymaker at Hans. It came near his face, too, but he was able to move just enough for his shoulder to absorb most of the blow. Still, she could punch hard, even without her aura. And yet— he didn’t even flinch. He simply reached out and grabbed hold of Yang’s arm. Squeezing tight, she could feel an intense, painful pressure from his grip. Just like before, she kicked and flailed to break free, and just like before, she could hardly make him budge.

He let out an almost bellowing laugh.

“Suppose I forgot to mention,” he said, as his laughter subsided. “Aura ain’t the only thing that needle drains.”

He threw her to the floor once more, and she collided with the wood with a hard, shaking impact.

“Sorry to break that to you, sweetheart,” he said as he bent over and smiled at her.

Carefully, wincing as she moved her left arm— which had already begun to bruise— she removed the gag from her mouth and threw it to the floor.

“I’m gonna kill you,” she hissed through her teeth. 

He just laughed again. 

“Yeah, I’m sure you are,” he said.

After another moment of laughing, he nodded towards the bed. There was a pile of various clothes— dresses, skirts, girl’s clothes— all of different colors and sizes. 

“Pick out your outfit, sweety,” he said. “Dinner will be soon. You’ll want to look nice, if you want to get any of it.”

And with that, he turned and stepped out of the room, leaving Yang to herself once more. There was a clicking sound, and she heard the door being locked. She tried it anyway, of course, and locked it was. She gave it a few hard slams, but it was sealed tight and held firm. It didn’t even sound like it was just made of wood planks. It must have been some thick logs— or maybe there was some metal lining it. Yang looked back around the room, in search of any other escape routes. There wasn’t even a window in the tight little room. Just the bed, the nightstand, the piles of clothes, and a tall full-body mirror. And, of course, her, staring right back at herself. She sighed. There was no obvious path out. It looked like she was gonna have to play ball. As disgusting as it was, she’d have to go along with his games until just the right moment. Just stave him off as best she could, until she found her way out of this.

Because she was gonna have to find some way out of this, sooner or later.

 

— — — 

 

The table was set much nicer than before. A white tablecloth with yellow and orange flowers on it was on top, tucked neatly around the edges. The shining white plates and bowls looked like hand-crafted beauties, like heirlooms from generations passed. They were topped by dishes of turkey, mashed potatoes, and corn. Crystal glasses filled with lemonade sat beside the plates. There was a smooth, pale white vase in the middle of the table, yellow roses standing tall and erect out of the top of it. There were candles lit, creating a four-point circle around the flowers at the center. With the top lights off and the dark winter clouds hanging overhead, it almost felt like a proper night time dinner. Actually, it could’ve been night time. Yang wasn’t exactly sure what time it was, and the clouds covered the sky. Maybe the sun was down already, and she hadn’t realized it. Who knows. She hasn’t been able to keep track of the time, not since she was thrown in that basement. It could’ve been 2 PM or it could’ve been 2 AM. She really had no way of knowing.

Not that it really mattered.

The time of day didn’t really concern her right now. She was standing in front of the dinner table, with Hans eye-raping her from his seat on the other side. She didn’t try to hide her disgust, and he didn’t try to pretend he cared.

“You look much better like that, y’know,” he said, wearing that stomach-churning smile.

Yang shook her head and sat down at the table. He was referring to her new clothing, that he’d provided. It was a pale yellow sundress, with puffed shoulders and a white waist-belt with a golden buckle. It was pretty, she wouldn’t deny that, but the fact that he was the one making her wear it made her look at it with a particular resentment. 

“In most cases,” Hans spoke again, this time with a bit of a stern tone. “When a man compliments his woman, she says thank you.”

Yang scoffed at his face.

“Thank you, fuckshow,” she said.

Hans gave her a scowl. Reaching out, he took the plate and brought it away from her. With a particular emphasis, he placed it loudly next to his own.

“You’ve still got an attitude to you,” he said as he took a bite of his food. “You’re gonna have to learn how to act proper sooner or later, missy.”

“You’ve still got un ugly fucking face to you,” she spat back. “But I don’t think you’re gonna learn anything about that.”

He took his napkin and wiped his mouth carefully.

“I thought maybe you’d have a new perspective by now,” he said. “But I guess you wanna go back in the basement for a while, don’t you?”

He stared at her, and she met his gaze in full.

“Or,” he began to cut his turkey, raises a piece to near his mouth. “Are you ready to know your place?” 

“What do you think?”

He ate the piece of turkey, silent for a moment. As he swallowed, he let out a sigh.

“I think,” he said, shaking his head. “I’d hoped you’d be ready for me to bed you, by—”

“I will rip your cock off if you even try,” she answered back.

“Not sure how you’ll manage that,” he said. “Without that aura of yours.”

“I don’t need aura to tear you a new one,” she said.

“Then why haven’t you done it yet?”

She was silent. He just smiled at her again, then went back to eating. She watched as he took bite after bite, feeling the growling in her stomach. Still, her burning hatred of him outweighed her hunger. It didn’t matter what it took, she wasn’t going to be broken by him. Through sheer tenacity, she would survive. She began to eye up the butter knife on her napkin beside where her place used to be.

“You’re free to try,” he said. “Not like those things cut too well anyways.”

He was staring up at her again. She met his gaze again, weighing her options. Considering lunging for it.

“But if you break it,” he went on. “You’ll be in some real trouble. My grandmother made this silverware. No replacing it.”

She glanced at the knife again, then back up at him. It didn’t seem like it was gonna work. The knife was paper-thin, and its serrated edge looked almost as dull as its blunt edge. She held her arm back, deciding not to reach for it.

“Good,” he nodded, going back to his food. “Now, are you ready to behave?”

She shrugged.

“You ready to lose your eyes?” She asked.

He sighed again, this time dropping his silverware and pushing his chair outward. Grunting, he rose from his seat and began to walk around to her side of the table. Yang had a sudden change of heart. She swiped the knife, grabbing it and throwing herself at him. The knife plunged towards his gut, and he only just had enough time to put up his arms. The knife caught on his forearm, making him grunt as it ripped his skin slightly, before the blade snapped off the handle and spun out through the air. Swinging his arm up, he hit Yang across the face with the back of his hand. Off-balance from her attack, the force of the blow knocked her to the floor.

“I told you,” he said, stepping forward. “Now you’re in some real trouble.”

He reached for her, but she shouted and launched herself upwards. Crashing her whole weight against him, he toppled backwards to the ground. She tumbled overtop of him, landing square on her rear. He grunted and rolled over onto his front, reaching at her again. She kicked her legs at him, but he was able to grab one of her ankles. As she tried to stand, he pulled her foot out from under her. She landed on her back hard, hitting her head against the wood floor. Groaning, she was caught in a daze for a moment. In that time, he climbed up and on top of her, pulling her into a choke. She kicked and flailed, but he put all his weight on her, holding her down to the floor. They struggled against one another for a few moments, until he got his arm her torso and locked her arms down. Hauling her like a bag of sand— a kicking, screaming bag of sand— he carried her back upstairs, where he threw her onto the bed. The back of her head hit the bed’s headboard hard, making the world spin for a few moments.

“Now you listen here, young missy,” he shouted at her in her daze. “I can see that you’re gonna be real immature ‘bout all this, so I’m gonna have to be a little more stern with you.”

She slowly shook off her dizziness, focusing on him and starting to rise. Before she could fully regain her composure, he slammed her backwards, where she hit the wall and started reeling all over again.

“Now it’s obvious to me that you don’t know how to act all right,” he said, his voice seeming to calm down slightly. “So it looks like you’re gonna need some adult supervision, for the first little while.”

He began to step forward, taking the binds back from the bedside table. She tried to resist as he tied her wrists back together, but she was too dazed from the blows. The binds were back, trapping her arms once more— although her legs were still free and kicking. 

“You hungry, sweetheart?” He said. “Hope you’re not too bad, ‘cause this is all you’re gettin’ for a while now.”

Something started to emerge from his pocket as he reached down into it. A pill of some kind was in his hand, chalky and pale. He reached forward and grabbed her by the jaw and held her mouth open as he pushed it between her lips. His eyes stayed locked on her while he held her there, watching her chew then swallow.

“Good girl,” he said, patting her head.

Then he stepped away, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed. He stared at her, waiting. Slowly, Yang felt her eyes begin to close. She slumped backwards, falling onto the pillow. She laid there, and he watched patiently. The sound of the wind and snow against the roof and walls was somehow calming, feeling like it could lul you off to sleep. The moon was hidden off, somewhere, behind the clouds, blocked from watching what went on in that dark, windowless room. The chair Hans sat in rocked gently back and forth, making the faintest creaking noise against the hardwood floor while he stared at her intently. The door stared at her as well, shut and locked.

After a while, when he was sure she was out of it, he began to doze off himself. It was only then, after what felt like hours of laying silently eyes shut, that Yang spat out the unchewed and unswallowed pill and opened her eyes.

 

— — — 

 

Being quiet was not necessarily Yang’s strong suit. If you’ll recall.

But everyone has one of those moments.

One of those moments, y’know? Where everything just seems to go right? Where all of the pieces just fall into place, like the stars and planets all aligning and the moon and sun moving just right. When everything just seems to come together, all at once, and everything just goes exactly the way you intended it to. Everything just moves smoothly and perfectly and you feel like your flying, like you’re on top of the world and that nothing in the universe could possibly touch you because you’re invincible, and anything you could ever try within the next few moments, within the next few seconds, within this one, short, brief, beautiful instant, will just go right. Those rare moments, rare but so perfect, that everyone just has every once in a while.

Yang hadn’t had one of those moments, in a while.

So being quiet wasn’t necessarily Yang’s strong suit, sure. She knows that. We know that. Everyone knows that. Fine. She doesn’t like being quiet, she doesn’t like being subtle, she doesn’t like going unnoticed. She likes being assertive, bombastic, loud, dominant— _there._ And everyone has those moments.

Yeah, it seemed like she was just about _due_ one of those, right about now.

And somehow, even through all of the pain and suffering that Yang went through daily— almost hourly, even— Yang found one of those. One of those golden, glowing, perfect moments. A moment where she was flying, where she was on top of the world, invincible, untouchable. Where everything came together and fell into place and the stars aligned and the sun and moon moved just right. And she could do anything. 

So when the door was locked and wouldn’t budge, she wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t even nervous. She was untouchable. She just moved, snuck right up to Hans’ sleeping form, stealthily and silently, reaching towards his belt, and with a single sleight of her hand, swiped the ring of keys and then darted straight back to the door. With a quiet jingle, a twist, and a click, the door pushed forward and swung open slowly. It creaked, ever so slightly, as it went, but she glanced back at her captor— asleep. So she went on, creeping down the steps and slithering towards her escape. But then she remembered the fact that she was unarmed and wearing someone else’s sundress— not exactly blizzard-ready attire. 

But Yang wasn’t to be stopped.

She turned right back around and crept back through the house, searching through cabinets and shelves for her belongings. Luckily for her, things were still falling right into place. The planets seemed to have maintained their alignment, at least for the time being. In the closet in the sitting room, facing the extinguished fireplace, was a decently sized duffel bag. The bright yellow glitter at the top gave the contents away. Sitting there, shining yellow like the day it was made, Ember Celica was resting atop the bag. She took the bag, carrying it towards the exit, when she put it down and was about to start getting back into her own clothing.

That, unfortunately, was when her moment ended.

“Guess you think you’re goin’ somewhere,” Hans whistled from behind her. “Don’t ya?”

She turned. A few feet away, standing at the bottom of the steps, he aimed at her with a long rifle. Its black snout stared at her like an empty eye, ready to burst at a moment’s notice. And with no aura, at it would take is a single shot.

“Guess you think you’re gonna stop me,” she bared her teeth at him. “Don’t you?”

He laughed, and took a step towards her. She held her ground.

“Y’know, I gotta say,” he said. “I got no choice but to commend the confidence. But sometimes, confident people is the stupidest people. Suppose you haven’t learned that by now, have you?”

“You could be right,” Yang retorted. “But then again, you seem pretty confident yourself, so.”

Yang was almost surprised at how unafraid she was. At how certain in herself she was. She hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Maybe her moment was quite over, just yet. Or maybe it was just bleeding through.

“You just don’t know when to quit,” he said back. “Do you?”

She flashed her pearly whites.

“Not even on the day I was born.”

In a flash, Yang ripped a shotgun shell from the top of the bag and hurled it at Hans. It spun through the air, flying straight towards him. Within a second he turned and fired off a shot, blasting the shell to dust. The moment he turned she threw the duffel bag with all her strength, crashing into him before he could react. The force knocked him from his feet and the rifle slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor. Yang ran forward, diving straight for the weapon. Hans threw the bag from off him and lunged, putting his hand on the center of the gun right as Yang got her hands on either end. They wrestled with it, pushing and pulling against each other. They rolled on the floor, on one another’s backs and trying to tear the rifle from their opponent’s hands. Yang strained and exerted all of her will, her aura-less strength fueled only by her rage, her resolve, and her overwhelming levels of adrenaline. He may have been strong, but she held him off. She maintained her ground, neither party budging, both incapable of getting the weapon from the other’s hands. So Yang went for a different approach.

They rolled once more unto Hans’ back, and Yang pressed her feet on the floor. She kicked off, raising her legs up through the air, then let herself drop back down. She drove her knee straight downward, crashing the sharp angle directly into the… _family jewels_ of her attacker. 

For a moment, his eyes just bulged. Then, he let out a bellowing, ear-scraping scream. He ripped them to the side, taking Yang off the ground and sending her flying to the door. She smashed through the wood, landing in the cold snow and rolling a path through the pristine white sheets. The rifle slipped from his grip again, but it slipped from hers as well. It catapulted off somewhere, through the woods, burying itself somewhere deep in the snow.

There was a distinct stomping noise. Yang looked up from the cold ground, shaking off the impact. Just as she looked up, she saw her duffel bag flying straight for her face. Ducking and rolling, she landed to her side and regained her footing quickly. She poised forward, putting her left fingers on the ground in front of her and right knee on the ground beneath her. Her left knee was squatted beneath her chest, and her right fist clenched tight behind her. Hans lumbered over to her, biting his tongue in pain, staring at her with a blood-induced fury. His feet pounded against the wooden floor, step after step, then through the snowy dirt, step after step, as he grew nearer and nearer to her. Right as he reached her, he raised a hairy arm and readied a heavy, hammering fist.

“I’ll teach you to—”

Yang didn’t care to let him finish. Pushing off with her foot, knee, and hand, she sprung forward. She threw all her weight into a single punch, trying to muster every fiber of her being to clocking him in the jaw so hard that he can’t stop her as she makes her escape. It didn’t matter if she didn’t have her aura, it didn’t matter if she didn’t have her semblance, it didn’t matter if her strength was drained. She would put everything she could into knocking to the ground— just stunning him long enough for her to flee. That’s all she needed. She was confident that that would be all she needed. And he was confident that he was going to shrug off her blow like nothing.

There was one thing that both of them had forgotten, though. 

Her right arm was metal.

It swung through, her haymaker colliding directly with his jaw, and made a resounding _crack._ She could feel a compression and a shatter behind the force of her titanium knuckles. 

_Huh. Guess there’s some upsides to this thing, after all._

There was silence, briefly. Neither of them moved. Yang was leaning forward, still in the position of her punch’s follow-through, her right arm extended forward and her left pulled close to her side. Meanwhile, Hans was kneeling forward on the ground. Yang turned slowly to face him. He was kneeling towards her, his face down and pointing at a red spot in the snow. More blood dripped from his face and met with the crimson stain. There was a wide splatter of scarlet, sprayed across the cold white to his right. Gradually, Hans looked up. There was a faint gurgling sound from him, like some sort of bizarre coughing. It was a sickening sound.

But it wasn’t as sickening as the sight she beheld, next.

Hans looked up at her, meeting her gaze. Although, she wasn’t entirely sure if he could actually see her. Not in the state he was in. Not as he stared at her, swaying lightly in the cold wind, blood sputtering and spurting from his ruined mouth— the mouth where, hanging loosely, by maybe only a thread, was his jaw, unhinged and only attached at one end. It seemed to sway lightly as well, just like the rest of his body. His left cheek was caved inward, and shattered bits of bone could be seen from the outside. Some of the flesh had been torn off entirely, and she could even see where it had landed in the snow. Lying there, among the blood and gore, she saw a tooth— no, teeth— several teeth, some intact and some in pieces, scattered across the ground. Some of them, she could only see them in the pale white snow because of the red bits of gum that had remained attached to their roots.

She stumbled back onto her hands. For a moment, she only could stare at him. She could only look on in horror at the remains of his face that stared right back at her. She could only gaze deep into the mess in front of her— the mess that she had made. Her own doing, with her own hands.

Or hand, rather.

Hans groaned. It was a terrible, painful, ugly groan. Leaning forward, he reached out towards her. Falling to the snow, he began to crawl slowly and weakly in her direction. Then she shouted and jumped backwards. Climbing to her unsteady feet, she grabbed her bag and stared at him for a moment longer, her own mouth still agape— though not nearly agape as his was. Then she spun on her heel, turning and bolting. She ran through the snow, among the trees, without looking back. She ran and ran and ran, passing through the forest one leaping step at a time, hardly aware of the freezing cold that was taking hold of her body or the torn and dirtied sundress that she’d yet to change out of. She hadn’t even noticed that the force of her punch had torn her binds asunder, separating it in two and freeing her movement of her arms. She ran, she ran again, and she ran some more, until her feet were screaming and her lungs were nearly bursting and she had no more run left in her, and then she ran just a little bit more. Just a mile or so.

But it wasn’t a mile. It was longer than that. She kept running because she couldn’t stop, even though she had no strength left in her tired, weary, hungry, beaten body. Her aura-less, semblance-free body couldn’t find it in itself to turn her legs off— not until they just gave out completely and she collapsed in the snow, panting and gasping for air while her fingers struggled to find any feeling left in them whatsoever. All alone, by herself, lost in the woods, no idea where to go, she rolled onto her back and rested. Finally, she let her body catch up to her, let it feel all the cold and pain and exhaustion and fear and horror and sorrow. And the loneliness. Never forget the loneliness.

But, as it turned out, she wasn’t alone for very long. A voice— a distinct, shrill yet soft, commanding yet calming, arrogant yet pleasant voice. One that seemed somewhat familiar.

“Yang?”

Yang rolled to her chest, propping herself up weakly on her forearms. Her world was still spinning, still double, just like before she had arrived at Hans’ cabin. Back to where she started. And yet, she could focus long enough to see. Long enough to see the face that was the source of that voice. There. Now there, there was a face Yang hadn’t expected to see. Not here. Not once, even in the slightest. Never. And she nearly didn’t see the face, either. She practically blended in with the snow.

“Weiss?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's the big double X, the big two-zero! This one took a little longer than I had planned, but I don't think the wait was too long. Much more isolated chapter, than I usually write. Hopefully that doesn't disappoint- really wanted to focus in on Yang for this one. Also because I was excited, because Weiss! Part of the team's finally back together since, like, what, chapter 5? Anyways, I'm just excited for the future. For now, as usual I hope you've enjoyed, and until next time.


	21. Long Time, No See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weiss.
> 
> That is all.
> 
> Well actually, enjoy and stuff, also. But mostly, Weiss.

**XXI**

**_Long Time, No See_ **

— — —  

_ “It kills me not to know this, But I've all but just forgotten _

_ What the colors of her eyes were, And her scars or how she got them” _

_ — — — _

When Weiss had heard the fast approaching footsteps in the snow, she’d expected the worst. Well, maybe the  _ worst  _ was a bit unreasonable, but it didn’t seem that way in the moment. Things just never seem to go right, anymore. Not in a long time. So she’d stood there, at the edge of a tree, doing her best to blend in with the winter wonderland around her, her weapon readied in her hand. She had to use her right hand to steady her sword arm, because of how much it had started to shiver. She’d lost her left glove in the crash, so the skin of her bare hand was exposed to the bone-chilling cold. It felt like her fingers would freeze off sooner, rather than later. If they weren’t frost-bitten already, well, then she didn’t know what. Atlas got cold— colder than this, even— but she didn’t stay outside in it very often. Not without proper winter gear. Lacking said gear made her fairly certain that she was going to be facing a very uphill battle, when it came to surviving this journey. Especially considering she wasn’t sure if she was even headed the right way towards Mistral.

So imagine, then, her surprise, when she sees what she saw next. Because, while she had expected the worst, she hadn’t exactly expected  _ this.  _ It was a welcomed sight, no doubt, but it was also an awful sight. Just… not in the way she’d anticipated, she supposed. Yang, dressed in a yellow sundress, carrying a large bag in one hand, breathing like there was no tomorrow, was standing in the snow and shaking like she was about to explode. It was hard to tell if it was because of how cold she was— because she was most certainly  _ not  _ dressed for the snow— or if it was adrenaline of some kind. Weiss stared at her for a moment, then decided it was probably more adrenaline than the cold— although the cold was certainly not helping her much. The reason for this conclusion was twofold. One, Yang had just come to a stop after a full-tilt sprint for dust knows how long. And two, well… Yang’s right arm (which had not been present the last time Weiss had seen her and most certainly had not been made of metal) was covered in long splatters of crimson, with drops of blood-red dripping from her knuckles and her fingertips. Something made Weiss suspect that it was not ketchup. 

Thankfully, it also appeared to not be Yang’s. But then that begged the question— Whose was it? How had it gotten there, and why was there so much of it? 

Those questions did not fill Weiss with positive thoughts.

“How…” Yang spoke between heavy pants. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” Weiss said.

They both stared at each other in silence for one long, drawn-out moment. Both were shaking, Yang was catching her breath, and Weiss was sliding her weapon back into its sheath. It was nice to see each other again, but the truth was that Weiss wasn’t exactly sure what she was supposed to do. What are you supposed to say to someone, in a situation like this? What had Yang been through? And how do you ask someone about that? In truth, Weiss wasn’t even sure how she’d want  _ herself  _ to be asked about what she’d experienced. She could only imagine how her old teammate would react to some intrusive questions… 

But then again. This was Yang. And she was just happy to see her.

“Well,” Yang said, after a moment. “It’s kinda—”

She couldn’t finish. Weiss threw herself forward at Yang, forcing the blonde to catch her. Wrapping her arms around Yang, she hugged her as tightly as she could. She hugged her so tightly that she lifted herself up, the toes of her own shoes hardly even touching the snow. It seemed to take Yang aback, at first, and Weiss was almost surprised by herself initially. Weiss held Yang, and slowly, Yang began to hold Weiss. And they held each other tight and close. Because they were just happy to see each other. 

“A long story…”

 

— — —

 

What could Yang say? She’d missed Weiss. A lot, probably more than she’d realized. And it was nice to catch up. It was nice to talk to her, to hear her voice. To feel near her, to be in her presence, even just to sit by the warm fire surrounded by the cold dead of night. It was also nice, as well, to finally be back in her own clothes again. They felt warm and comfy against her skin. It felt like Hans had washed them, after all. Maybe it was her aura, slowly coming back to her as the effects of the syringe wore off. Or maybe it was all just her brain playing tricks on her. Either way, she was content to watch that old sundress slowly curl inwards and turn to black before crumbling to ash in the fire in front of her. It gave a certain satisfaction she felt she needed. Especially given how shaken she was still feeling, after all that. The taste of vomit pervaded her senses whenever she imagined the mess she’d left laying in the snow. So she tried to avoid imagining that.

“That’s so… awful,” Weiss said, after a moment. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Weiss looked at her and put a hand on Yang’s shoulder.

“Yeah, well,” Yang met her gaze. “I think I’m doing okay, now. Just glad to see a familiar face, out here.”

“Yeah,” Weiss smiled. “What were the odds of that?”

“Hell if I know,” Yang smiled back. “But I feel like we deserve a stroke of luck, like that. After all this.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Weiss said, looking forward at the fire. After a moment, she looked up. “I hope he rots.”

Yang laughed.

“Feisty,” she said.

“A man like that…” Weiss shivered. “I’m just glad he’s gone now.”

Yang sighed and looked at the flame.

“Yeah, you and me both, Ice Queen,” she said.

Weiss rolled her eyes, but smiled. It had been quite some time since she’d heard that nickname. It was… pleasant.

“So,” Yang turned and looked at her. “What about you? How’d you end up here?”

“It’s… kind of—”

“A long story?”

Weiss looked up at Yang and laughed. The both of them laughed together, for a few moments, leaning up to one another and staying close for warmth.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Weiss nodded after ceasing her laughter finally.

“Well,” Yang leaned forward. “So is mine, so if you wanna hear the rest of it, you’re gonna have to start talking too.”

“You still haven’t even told me  _ why  _ you’re out here,” Weiss responded.

“Yeah, well, it’s been a longer couple days,” Yang said. “So it’s your turn first.”

Weiss sighed, smiling while giving her head a shake. Eventually, she relented and looked up.

“Fine,” she said.

“Great,” Yang said with a bright, warm smile. 

Even though it was slightly bruised and darkened, Yang was still a joyous presence. A nice departure from the last time Weiss had seen her, to be sure. Yang leaned towards Weiss, looking at her patiently and expectantly. Weiss took a moment to gather her thoughts, before finally beginning.

“Well,” she started. “I went back home to Atlas, with my father. After the fall.”

“Duh,” Yang said, somewhat sarcastically.

“Rude,” Weiss said, not able to help but smile slightly again. “Anyway, I was trapped inside the house for weeks. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. I couldn’t go onto the grounds, into the city, anything. Nowhere outside.”

“Not even the roof?”

“Stop interrupting, you dolt,” Weiss said.

“Sorry,” Yang said, an almost embarrassed grin on her face.

Weiss stared at her for a moment, then smiled at her. Then she looked down and went on.

“In any case, it was just frustrating, at first,” she continued. “But it came to a head when I heard some…  _ woman,  _ saying these awful things about Vale and Beacon. At a charity event  _ for  _ the Fall of Beacon, at that.”

Yang frowned. She ground her teeth and Weiss could see a tad bit of anger in her eyes.

“I know. Anyway,” she went on. “I may have… overreacted, a tad.”

“Overreacted how?”

“Well, I…” Weiss hesitated slightly. “I sort of…  accidentally summoned a monster. To attack her.”

Yang stared at her, for a moment. Her eyes widened slowly as she looked at her, until she shouted.

“You  _ what?!”  _

Then she clapped her hands together and let out a bellowing laugh, beginning to giggle almost hysterically. She fell backward, almost, rolling and rocking from her laughter, barely able to contain herself.

“That’s amazing!”

“Well it’s not  _ that  _ funny,” Weiss pouted.

“No, it’s pretty funny,” Yang said, slowly calming down.

It almost looked like she needed to brush a tear from her eye, she had laughed so hard.

“Oohh, that’s just too perfect,” Yang said.

“May I continue?” Weiss asked impatiently.

“Only if you admit that it was funny,” Yang responded.

Weiss crossed her arms and turned her head.

“It was not…” She paused, then eventually looked forward. “Well, maybe it was a little funny…”

Yeah, _a_ _little,”_ Yang said, nearly giggling again.

“Whatever!”  
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Yang said, keeping herself calm. “What happened next? How did that get taken?”

“Well,” Weiss sighed as she answered. “Before I couldn’t leave the estate. Now I couldn’t leave my room.”

“Well that’s bullshit,” Yang said.

“I’m well aware,” Weiss said. “And that’s not to mention I’ve lost my status as heiress to the Schnee Dust Company.”

“You what?”

“My self-centered, narcissistic, arrogant…  _ asshole  _ of a father decided I was no longer fit to represent the family and the company once he finally resigns, dust knows whenever that will be.”

Yang’s brow raised. A wide grin quickly grew across her face.

“Ooh, Princess’s got a mouth!” Yang wore her shit-eating grin as she spoke. “You learn to swear while I was away, Ice Queen?”

“Hush, you.”

“You know I’m right,” Yang winked.

“If you say so,” Weiss said, failing to bite back a smile.

They looked at each other, for a moment. Just smiling. Both happy to see a friendly face. For once, everything seemed like it could be okay. Their problems, their fears, their obstacles, their pains, their regrets— they all seemed so far away, for now. Just for a little while, at least. At that was all that mattered. Eventually, Yang decided to speak.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, y’know,” she said, placing her hand on Weiss’ shoulder. “Seriously. That’s not fair.”

“Well,” Weiss looked up at Yang. “I’m sure you went through plenty more than I did. So I won’t complain too much.”

Yang stared down at the fire. Her eyes were blank, suddenly.

“You don’t… have to say that,” Yang said, after a while.

“I’m serious—”

“So am I,” Yang cut her off.

Weiss looked at her, watching her old teammate stare at the fire. As if out of nowhere, she just seemed so… cold. Numb. Even after the laughing and smiling, there was something that just seemed missing from the blonde. It made Weiss wonder what she’d seen, while they’d been split apart. But it also made her afraid to find out. Now she was wishing they’d been closer. Before the Fall. Maybe it would be easier for Yang to talk to her if they had talked more back then.

“Yang?” 

Yang slowly lifted her head back up, away from the flames.

“Yeah?” She responded, almost half-heartidly.

“What… happened? How did you… I mean, what happened after… after we were separated?”

Yang lowered her gaze to the tongues of the fire, again.

“I…” Yang took a while to answer. “Nothing. Everything. I don’t know… A lot of… things.”

“Things? What kind of things?”

“I…” Yang sighed. “I don’t know. I’ll tell you later. I think. I think… I think I wanna get some sleep. We can talk more tomorrow, I… I’m just tired, right now.”

Weiss could only look at her, at first.

“Right, I…” She nodded. “Alright. That’s okay. You get some sleep, I’ll… I’ll keep watch.”

“No, I’ll take first watch,” Yang shook her head.

“But you just said—”

“I know, it’s fine,” Yang interrupted. “I’ll wake you up when… whenever. You can sleep first.”

“Yang—”

“Weiss,” Yang looked at her. There was a sad look of pleading, in her eyes. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

Weiss stared at her. After a while, she relented. She sighed and nodded. 

“Okay,” she said. “Okay. I’ll… just wake me up when you need too.”

Yang didn’t answer. She just stared at the fire. Slowly, Weiss tore her eyes away from her. She rolled over onto her side, trying to find some semblance of comfort on the cold ground beneath the trees. She couldn’t imagine what Yang had been through. What she’d seen. Maybe it was something she’d said, that made Yang seem to drain so quickly. Because it was so quick. So sudden. In one moment she was the Yang of old— the bubbly, happy, big-hearted friend she always knew— and in the next she was something… different. Something wrong. Something not Yang. Weiss sighed to herself, silently. Hopefully, she’d be better in the morning.

The outlook wasn’t so good right now, though.

 

— — —

 

Yang didn’t wake Weiss up to take watch, of course. So, in her exhaustion, she slept through the night until the first rays of dawn— which, granted, had only ended up being a couple of hours or so, but still. In the freezing snow, it was impressive nonetheless. Weiss tried to chide her for staying up all night, but Yang didn’t seem very responsive. She was too tired. Obviously. But they had to get moving, they couldn’t afford to stay in one spot for too long. Either the frostbite or the Grimm would get to them, if they did. So they got to their feet and began to walk. Through the snow and the trees, beneath the pale gray sky, in the bitter, bone-shaking cold, they walked. Where to, exactly… that wasn’t so clear, yet. In the general direction of Mistral, at least. They were pretty sure. They hoped. Who knows, really. They just had to guess, walk, and pray that they were right. Oh, well. They would find out sooner or later. One way or another, they’d have to. Eventually.

They did their best to talk as they went. It was clearly not…  _ easy,  _ for either of them. To simply just run into someone they hadn’t seen in months, after all they’d been through, and just talk to one another like they used to. More than they used to, really. Opening up about these things… it wasn’t easy. Not to anyone. Not by a longshot. But acting like nothing had happened, like everything was normal, that wasn’t easy either. That was maybe impossible. The omnipresent knowing that hung in the air, the knowledge that they well and truly did  _ not  _ know what the other had been through, and they most certainly did  _ not  _ know how to help them deal with it. If that’s even what you’re supposed to do, in a situation like this. 

Slowly but surely, though, they did talk about things. Some of their experiences. What they’d been up to. Weiss found out that Yang had built herself a new arm, using an Atlesian Knight and her motorcycle. She found out how she’d made it to Anima on a boat, where she’d run into a massive sea Grimm. She found out about some of the bandits and thugs that had tried to stop her. But it still seemed like something was… missing. Like Yang was purposefully leaving something out. Something major, something important. Something very influential, during her recovery process.

“So,” Weiss wanted to find out more. “Who helped you get a hold of the Knight?”

“I— No one,” Yang stuttered a bit. 

Uncharacteristic.

“No one?” Weiss repeated.

“No one,” Yang nodded. “Just me.”

“Seems pretty tough,” Weiss said. “To pull something like that off, all on your own.”

“We fought them before,” Yang said, shrugging. 

“Yeah,” Weiss said. “But you weren’t… Well, you know. Injured, yet.”

Yang didn’t seem to have an answer for that.

“Where…” Weiss kept prodding. “Where did you find the Knight?”

Yang didn’t have anything to say to that, either.

“Yang?”

“What?” Yang answered her flatly.

“Why aren’t you telling me the truth?”

Yang looked at her for the first time since the start of their conversation. She stared at her with a certain sorrow in her eyes. Slowly, her gaze dropped back to the snow beneath them as they trudged through. With a careful hesitation, Weiss reached out towards Yang. Eventually, her hand found its way onto Yang’s shoulder. The blonde almost flinched when she made contact.

“You can trust me, Yang,” Weiss said. “I know that we’ve never been as… close, as you’ve been with Blake or Ruby, but… I’m your teammate. Your friend, I… I’m here for you, if you need me.”

Yang looked at her again. Still, no answer.

“Yang, I care about you,” Weiss said. “You know that. Right?”

A pale billow came from Yang’s mouth as she sighed heavy. It faded into the sky overhead, and left Yang with her eyes shut and her face turned down towards the ground. It was as though there was some thick, oaken encasing keeping her mouth shut and locked. Weiss almost swore she could even see it.

“I…” Yang began, finally. “Weiss, I… I’m sorry, I just don’t really know if I can talk about it, right now.”

“Well… why not?”

“I just—” Yang sighed another hefty sigh. “I don’t…. I mean, I can hardly even handle thinking about it, right now… It’s just… too much, right now. I guess. Too soon, too… fresh.”

“Could you…” Weis started, thinking over her words carefully. “Could you at the very least tell me what it’s about?”

“I…” Yang thought for a moment, then took a breath. “Maybe… I don’t know. Could we just talk about it later, please?”

Weiss stopped, grabbing Yang lightly by the hand. Yang stopped a step in front and turned, looking back at Weiss. Or rather, at the ground beneath Weiss. Weiss looked up at her and gave Yang an almost desperate look.

“Are you sure? That’s alright with you?”

Yang met her gaze, albeit at the pace of a snail.

“I… yeah. Yeah, I think so,” Yang answered.

Nodding slowly, Weiss leaned in. She went on her toes and pulled Yang into a tight, warm hug. Yang hugged her back without a second thought. How quickly she forgot, how much she needed someone to hold. 

“I just want you to be okay,” Weiss said, speaking into Yang’s collar.

“I know,” Yang said, with her nose against Weiss’ soft, pearly hair. “I’m sorry. Everything’s just so messy, right now.”

“It will be alright,” she ran a calming hand through Yang’s long, gracious, if a bit shaggy hair. Yang had never let her do that before.

“I hope you’re right,” Yang answered back.

Eventually, they broke apart, and Weiss smiled up at her brightly.

“Of course I am,” Weiss said. “I have to keep all of my little ducklings in order.”

Yang gave a small but Yang-like smile back. They turned and began to walk again.

“Oh, so  _ you’re  _ momma goose, now?”

“Now?” Weiss scoffed. “I have  _ always  _ been the mother of this group.”

“Like hell you have,” Yang feigned offense. “That was always my job!”

“And what makes you so certain of that?”

“I just am,” Yang said, smiling in full now. “You’re the bratty, uptight daughter-in-law.”

“Hey!”

“I’m just saying it like it is,” Yang shrugged.

“Well,” Weiss folded her arms together. “I’ve always been the responsible one.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re the mom,” Yang said.

“And why not?”

Yang just smirked.

“My mom wasn’t very responsible,” Yang said.

“I—” Weiss paused, then looked down. She looked back up, her brow furrowed from thought. “I suppose mine wasn’t, either.”

“Maybe we have more in common than you thought,” Yang said.

“As if,” Weiss gave an exaggerated scowl, to which Yang chuckled. “I still don’t see how that makes you the mom of the group.”

“Who was the one who dragged you guys out of bed, on bright and sunny mornings?”

“You.”

“Who was the one who encouraged your lazy butts to try and make new friends?”

“...You.”

“Who was the one who made all of you lunches for our field trips?”

“You never did that,” Weiss said.

“Yeah, but I woulda been the best at it,” Yang said. “I coulda made all the sandwiches. Blake liked tuna, Rubes liked chunky peanut butter, chocolate, and marshmallow fluff—”

“That sounds foul,” Weiss scrunched her nose.

“It was pretty rank,” Yang nodded, not missing a beat. “And you like smooth peanut butter with strawberry jelly, on white whole wheat.”

“How do you remember that?”

“Like I said,” Yang stretched casually. “Mom of the group.”

Weiss rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she relented. “But you’re my dear old mother, who I lovingly take care of.”

“Old?!”

“And even if it gets in the way of my career and goals, still I care for you, because I just love you so.”

“The nerve!”

“And we live together as bachelorettes, in a tiny little house, where I feed you your soup and crackers, because I will not let those old folk homes take you away from me.”

Weiss put her fist on her hips and showed mock boldness.

“They’ll never tear us apart! They’ll never separate us, because we won’t let them. Won’t we, mother?”

“I’m still back at the old part!”

They broke out into giggles, unable to keep up their charade any longer. There was something bizarre about the whole thing, two girls marching through the hellish, freezing winter-scape, laughing and joking and pretending to be someone else. It was a strange reminder— they were still kids, weren’t they? Eighteen years old, the both of them— well, actually, Weiss was still only seventeen, but Yang forgot that— still young, still teenagers, still kids. Just… maybe not the same bright-eyed, bushy-tailed young kids they were when they first arrived for school at Beacon. But kids, either way.

“Y’know,” Yang said, their laughs letting up and subsiding finally. “I bet we coulda embarrass the shit out of the rest of ‘em, if we had done stuff like this more.”

“I’m sure,” Weiss nodded, smiling wide. “I wish we had.”

“Yeah, me too,” Yang said.

They looked at one another, for a short moment. Not directly. They didn’t stare at each other's faces, they didn’t gaze into one another’s souls through their eyes, they didn’t lock sights and never let go. They just glanced at each other, seeing the other beside them as they walked along. It made them feel just that much less alone, in this dangerous, wild world. Yang wondered why they hadn’t talked more, back in school. Was it really just because they already had partners? She wasn’t sure, but either way, it didn’t make a whole lotta sense. She was starting to notice just how much better they got along than either of them had realized. Oh, well. No pointing of wasting wishes on the past. All that mattered was here and now. Yang just had to stay focused on that. And in the here and now, she was walking with Weiss. And they had plenty of freedom to make up for lost time.

It felt nice, to have a friend out here.

 

— — — 

 

“Gods, it’s freezing,” Yang said through chattering teeth, rubbing her hands over her shoulders for warmth.

“You don’t say?” Weiss gave her a sarcastic side-eye.

They trudged through thicks layers of snow, against the strong tides of the freezing winds. Neither of them had a good sense for exact temperatures, so they couldn’t tell just  _ how  _ cold it was, at least not in a numbers sense. But did that really matter? They knew well enough that it was cold, and that it felt like they were freezing to death. They may have actually  _ been  _ freezing to death. A cold gust kicked up, sending a spray of icy frost up towards their faces. They didn’t exactly notice, though. It was camouflaged by all of the other cold snow being blown straight into them. They leaned forward and kept their heads down, trying to power through the whirlwinds of ice. It was nearly impossible to see more than five feet ahead of themselves, the winds were so white and thick with snow. The force of the blizzard was strong, brutally so, too— it was like walking up a waterfall. The howling noises of the winds whistled around their ears, making it hard to hear each other without raising their voices. They stuck close together, Weiss raising her sword up ahead of them. Dim flames rose from her dust-infused blade, licking the white air before being quickly restricted back to their tight confines atop the weapon. 

They were probably freezing to death.

“You don’t seem so bothered by it,” Yang called to Weiss.

“If you think that I’m not cold,” Weiss said, turning her face away from a particularly strong gust of frost. “Then perhaps you’re just a tad dumber than you look.”

“Even in a blizzard, the snark doesn’t die, huh?”

“I was raised in Atlas, Yang, I’m used to this,” she responded. “If anything, the blizzard  _ brings out  _ the snark in me.”

“Fair enough,” Yang said.

They kept pushing through, trying to brute force their way through the storm. Mother nature closed in on them, laying her strongest gusts of frost, glacial winds upon them, one after the other, relentlessly and without halt. As if to say, “No, you will not pass. Not now, not ever.” And her plan was working. So to speak. And you could tell, too, because their plan wasn’t. Maybe it was time for a new plan.

“We need to find shelter,” Weiss shouted over the screaming gale. “We’re going to freeze if we keep this up.”

“I hear ya,” Yang yelled back. “If only we could see…”

Weiss grit her teeth. They were running out of options, now. If they didn’t find somewhere to stay soon, well… Better not to think of that.

“I have an idea,” Weiss said. “But you have to trust me.”

“Done,” Yang didn’t hesitate. Anything was better than this, right now.

“If this doesn’t work, we’re going to be in even worse trouble than before.”

“Sounds good to me,” Yang’s opinion had not changed. “Just do it soon.”

“Okay, here it goes…” Weiss said, focusing on her sword in front of her.

Channeling her energy into Myrtenaster, glyphs began to form around the blade, spinning and twirling in different directions. The red dust within the revolver hilt began to glow, growing hotter by the second. Shutting her eyes, she felt the wind. It pushed against them, and she let it come at her. She focused, allowing the air currents all flow towards one single spot, on the tip of her sword. It ran down the blade, sucked through the glyphs and sent straight into the dust cylinder, where it began to whirl and spin. A tiny tornado of cold air and hot dust began to form. She waited, waited, waited. She didn’t know what she was waiting for. If she did it at the wrong moment, all of the dust would be used, and they’d find nothing. They’d be stranded, exactly as they are now, only without the warmth of her sword. But still, she didn’t know what she was waiting for. There would be no way to tell what moment was right, and what moment was wrong. She only had to guess. She could only guess. 

Her eyes stayed shut, and she waited. There was an inkling, if only for a moment. Something in the very back, the furthest corners of her mind, whispering. Tickling at her brainstem. It told her— now. Weiss finally opened her eyes. The glyphs inverted, and she whipped her blade forward. Every remnant of fire dust was expelled. Weiss blasted out her own zephyr of burning flames, and, for a moment, the storm was held at bay. The blazing heat and glowing tongues of fire illuminated the forest and melted some of the snow, giving them a clear view of the surrounding area. For only a second or two, but that was long enough.

“There!” Yang shouted, pointing.

A small cave, set in the Earth beneath a particularly gnarled and wizened-looking willow tree. Just barely visible, at the very edge of their little inferno. Yang grabbed Weiss by the arm and hauled her along, sprinting for the cave. The storm began to return, and the flames receded. Mother nature was telling them no, once more. Their vision was fading to only the white of the blizzard again. But Yang wouldn’t have it. They ran forward, and just as sight escaped them completely, Yang grabbed Weiss by the waist and threw them forward, propelling them with the recoil of a blast. They landed hard on cold, mossy stone— but they landed beneath cold, mossy stone, as well. They made it. If only barely.

They rolled on their backs, panting.

“Well,” Yang said, after a moment to recoup. “That was a neat trick.”

“It was a lucky guess,” Weiss shook her head.

“Lucky guess that saved our lives, sure,” Yang looked up at her. “So, y’know. Thanks, and all that.”

Weiss kept breathing heavily, feeling a tad drained from how long she’d focused her aura for. Still, she found it in her to smile faintly.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

Slowly, they began to lift themselves up. The cold winds continued to howl just outside the mouth of the cave, with some of the snow and frost blowing in at the entrance. There were long, sharp icicles hanging from the roof of the entryway, turning the mouth of the cave into the fanged jaws of a beast. Behind them, the cave only went a couple of yards deep. Hardly much room to spread out, but also eliminating the possibility of any lurking Grimm, sleeping in the bowls of their shelter. So maybe that was preferable. 

“I’ll try and get a fire going,” Yang said, climbing to her feet.

Weiss nodded, and the evening went on.

It took a while to find enough tinder, but eventually, the two found themselves sitting over a fire once more. Yang threw her jacket on the ground for the two of them to sit on, and they huddled up close for warmth. They talked idly at times, and at others they sat in silence, nearly as cold as the winter winds outside.

“So,” Yang spoke up after an extended quiet period. “You never told me how you ended up here.”

Weiss furrowed her brow.

“I told you, I—”

“I know, you ran away from home and then crashed and got stranded,” Yang nodded. “But this is out of the way from Mistral. At least, I’m pretty sure. How’d you end up here? And how’d you crash?”

Weiss sighed. She guessed she had left that part out, for whatever reason. 

“We crashed,” she said. “Trying to fend off some flying Grimm. A swarm of Lancers and their queen.”

“Gross,” Yang scrunched her nose.

“Quite,” Weiss nodded. 

“Did you end up around here trying to get away?”

“No, no,” Weiss shook her head. “We were able to wipe them out. But the ship had sustained too much damage. It went down and we crashed along the coast.”

“The coast?” Yang raised her head. “But that’s pretty—”

“Far,” Weiss nodded again. “Yes. The crash isn’t what got me here.”

“What, then?”

Weiss sighed yet again.

“Well, unfortunately, my pilot was killed in the crash,” she went on. “And, lucky for me, I happened to be found by a group of people.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you don’t mean you were actually lucky?”

“Bandits, that’s why,” she bit the inside of her cheek. “They recognized me, easily, of course.”

“Humble brag,” Yang said.

“Hush, you,” Weiss said. “They took me to their encampment, where they planned to ransom me off back to my family in Atlas.”

“That would’ve sucked,” Yang half chuckled. “How’d you get loose?”

“I’ve been… practicing, with my summoning,” she said.

Yang looked up.

“For real?” Her eyes looked wide with excitement. “I thought you were still just doing it by accident. You can control it now?”

“Fairly reliably, yes,” Weiss nodded, shutting her eyes and smirking proudly. "And that _accident_ was only a one-time thing, thank you very much."

“That’s awesome,” Yang grinned. “I just hope that doesn’t mean you’re gonna get too soft.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Weiss opened her eyes again.

“Oh, nothin’ much,” Yang joked. “I’m just hoping you’re not gonna sit in the back and let you’re summons do all the work, from now on.”

“Just you watch, Yang Xiao Long,” Weiss admonished, lifting her head proudly. “I could beat you any day of the week. That’s a promise.”

“With a summon, maybe,” Yang teased. “Like, ten percent of the time.”

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten, Yang,” Weiss raised a finger at her. “We may not be in school anymore, but in three years' time, we’re having our duel. And I  _ will  _ come out on top.”

“You keep telling yourself that, princess,” Yang grinned wider.

The two may not have been the closest pair on team RWBY, but they had at least known each other well enough. Well enough to know one another’s appreciation for fighting as an art. And, since an early point, they’d had a friendly rivalry in who would be the better fighter. At the end of their tenure at Beacon, they had planned for their rivalry to culminate in one final friendly duel, to determine who would definitively be the superior fighter of the two.

“Well,” Weiss said back. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

“Guess so,” Yang nodded.

They sat silently for another few moments, both still smiling with that faint tinge of cocky vigor.

“So,” Yang said after a while. “You escaped all on your own?”

“Just about,” Weiss answered.

“Sounds tough. Were there a lot of them?”

“There was a fair few,” Weiss nodded. “But I didn’t have to fight all of them. I… mostly ran.”

“No shame in that,” Yang shrugged. “Impressive enough to get away all by yourself.”

“Well it wasn’t too complicated to do,” Weiss said. “They were a rather simple group, for the most part. Wooden cages, few advanced weapons, so on and so forth. They even called themselves a tribe, if I recall.”

Yang sat erect, suddenly. Her eyes were round and sharp. Not quite wide, but most certainly alert.

“What is it?” Weiss became alerted as well. “Did you hear—”

“What was their name?”

“What?” Weiss asked.

“What,” Yang stared at her, firm and harsh. “Was their name?”

“What, the bandits? What do you—”

“The tribe,” Yang grit her teeth so hard you could hear them creak. “What did they call themselves?”

“I… I don’t—”

“Weiss,” Yang cut in. “Think. What was their name?”

“I can’t remember, I— I didn’t…” Weiss shook her head, flustered. “Yang, what’s going on? What is it?”

“Weiss, I need you to remember.”

“I… Umm, I don’t…” Weiss paused, straining her mind. 

It was a bit of a blur. So much had happened so fast, all at once. It was hard to get a clear picture, to remember if she’d even ever heard a name for the group. But maybe there was something. Some fragment to remember.

“I think…” Weiss began. “I think they called themselves… a clan, the… The Bra… Branen, Bran—”

“Branwen Clan,” Yang stated, as-a-matter-of-fact-like.

“That…” Weiss looked up. “That sounds right. How… how do you—”

“You have to take me to them,” Yang said. 

“What?!” Weiss’ eyes went wide. “Yang, I can’t go back— we can’t go to them, they’ll—”

“Weiss,” Yang leaned in close, gripping Weiss’ arm. “Branwen.  _ Raven  _ Branwen.”

“I…” Weiss looked down, then back up slowly. “Your…”

Yang nodded.

“My mother,” she said.

“Yang,” Weiss said, shaking her head slightly. “I know that… I know she’s your… but I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“I don’t care,” Yang stared at her. There was a cold glare in her eyes.

“Yang—”

“Take me to her,” Yang said through her teeth. “Or tell me which way she is so I can find her myself.”

“Yang, you know you can’t do that,” Weiss protested.

“Watch me,” Yang spat back. “I’m tired of people telling me what I can and can’t do.”

“Yang—”

“Tell me. Which way. Now.”

“I—”

“Weiss!” Yang grabbed Weiss by the shoulders, now a pleading look in her eyes. “Tell me, please. I _need_ to find her. _Please.”_

“I…” Weiss hesitated. “They were…”

She slowly began to raise her hand to point. She stopped partway, but her gaze had given the direction way. Yang looked to the North. A look of determination fell over her face. She started to rise.

“Yang, wait!” Weiss shouted.

She threw herself forward, grabbing Yang by the wrist and trying to hold her back.

“Don’t just go, Yang!” She cried out. “I’m telling you, this is  _ not  _ a good idea.”

“I don’t care!” Yang shouted back. “I’m  _ going  _ to—”

“I know, Yang,” Weiss cut her off. “I know you’re going to go after her. And it’s  _ not  _ a good idea. But I’m not letting you do it alone. Not in that blizzard, either.”

She stared up at Yang, holding her gaze.

“I know you want to find her,” Weiss began.

“I  _ need  _ to—”

“You  _ need  _ to find her, fine,” Weiss snapped. “But I’m not going to let you kill yourself doing it. Don’t you remember what you told Blake? How this search  _ wouldn’t  _ consume you? What do you think it’s doing, now?”

I…” Yang paused, growing uncertain if only for a moment. 

“Just wait, please,” Weiss begged. “Until morning, at the  _ very  _ least. Until the blizzard dies out, preferably. Yang, I will help you. I promise. I’m not letting you go off alone again. And I’m  _ not  _ getting left behind again, either. We have to stick together. We have to be smart. Please.”

“I… Okay…” Yang relented, finally. “Okay, I… I promise.”

Weiss smiled softly, nodding once.

“Thank you,” she said. “And we’ll find her. I promise.”

“I… I know, I…” Yang hesitated. “I trust you.”

She’d said it earlier, but she hadn’t thought about if she meant it. It was difficult. Trusting. Trusting anyone. But she had to try. She was going to try. Because she was going to find her mother.  _ Finally,  _ she was going to find her mother. After all this time. All these years. But she had to stay sure of one thing.

She had to be sure she wasn’t going to get hurt all over again.

 

— — — 

 

Neo shuffled her were through the forest mindlessly, without purpose and without direction. A respite in the blizzard had come, but who knew for how long. The night sky stared down at her, and she couldn’t tell if it was judging her or if it was pitying her. Even as the snow only fell lightly, for however brief that would be, the snow was still up to her knees. She waddled along, as though she was walking through the sea. Her legs were exhausted— as was the rest of her— but she didn’t care enough for that to stop her. She wasn’t sure where she was going, anymore. It was Beacon all over again. There was nothing, no one. She wasn’t sure what she was hanging on for at this point. What was driving her? The only thing keeping her alive was the fact that she didn’t know anything else, any other way to live. The fact that she didn’t know how to die.

Would she, if she knew how? Would she allow it all to end? Would she let the world finish her, bringing her tale, however short but heavily used it was, to a close? There wasn’t anything keeping her from saying no, she wouldn’t… but there wasn’t anything stopping her from saying yes, yes, she would, either. So who knows? She didn’t know. She didn’t think about it, either. But she didn’t really think about much of anything at all, either. She had stopped crying, as well. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. It was just that it didn’t feel like she had any tears left to cry. Maybe she had gone so long without crying that her eyes couldn’t take much of it when she finally did. Or maybe she just didn’t see a point in it, anymore.

Was there a point in it, to begin with? Was there a point in anything? Was there a point in walking out here, cold and alone in the snow and the frost, in search of nothing in particular? Was there a point in eating, breathing, sleeping? Was there a point in living? 

She didn’t have the answers. And she didn’t have anyone to ask. Beneath the night sky and the shade of the snowy treetops, even her shadow had left her behind. The last time she was this alone, she doesn’t think she was alive. Or maybe she was. Maybe she has always been alive, in some way or another. But was that so? Do people live all the time? Or do they ever take a break from living to die? Neo wondered. She wondered if you have to live, to stay alive. Do you have to stay alive for your  _ entire  _ life? Sheesh. That’s such a long time. A tall ask, to live for that long.

_ Who can live that long?  _

Roman’s voice echoed in her ears.

_ I’ll die young, when life is still fun. _

That’s what he’d said. That’s what he told her. And that’s what she’d believed, for a long time. And she’d had dreams, hopes, that maybe he was wrong. Maybe they’d run off, find their own life beyond the walls, and live until he was old and cranky and too weak to pee on his own. His words, not hers. But that dream had been ripped from her, just as she thought it was about to land in her hands. And then… 

Once, Neo had nothing. She was nowhere, she had no one. She felt nothing. Lost, without a voice, and on her own. Then, from the candle’s flame, someone. A new name, and someone to care about. Someone to care about her.

And with a snap of her fingers, it was gone. Stolen, and she’s all alone. 

Until.

Until she found something new. Someone new. And it was hard to understand, at first, what she was feeling. What she felt. It was different than before. It wasn’t someone who cared about her, and someone she cared about. It was more than that, it was… it was someone she would give up everything before. Even if she thought she wouldn’t, she would. She wouldn’t be able to stop herself. It was a feeling she didn’t understand, that she didn’t have a word for. But it was something in the bottom of her beating heart that made her pulse flutter and her stomach jingle. And that was gone, now, too.

She had been alone before. 

So why did this hurt so much more than last time?

_ Because now you know what it’s like to not be alone. _

A voice. One she didn’t recognize. It sounded familiar, but she wasn’t sure from where. Where had she heard it before?

Neo stopped in her idle tracks. Her feet were in snow a different shade from the rest. It was scarlet, blood red. It shone like a ruby in the ice. It was spread wide and long, and it led a trail. Neo’s eyes followed the trail to its source. A body, frozen solid. A man, tall, orange-haired. Was this a vision? A hallucination, a message from some strange power? She looked up and saw a little log cabin. She wanted to run inside. Something about this all, it was too close. In her mind, she would see herself inside. Older, on the floor, dead. Dead like this orange-haired man outside. 

Then she got closer to him, and she realized he wasn’t a vision. He was real. And he didn’t look so much like Roman, after all. He was bearded, and his eyes were the wrong color. He seemed more heavyset, as well. Not to mention, his smashed and unhinged bottom jaw. Slowly, she took her eyes off his mangled, frozen face. She trudged forward, heading inside the cabin. Its front door was swung wide, and inside it was as silent as death. Or was death loud? It had always seemed loud, to her. Regardless. She walked along the floorboards, as they faintly creaked beneath her snow-covered boots. A cold trail of frost followed behind her from outside. She found herself in a kitchen, with a fancy table set neatly. She turned away. Something about the food seemed foul, beyond just the rot and age. It didn’t seem like something she should eat, no matter how hungry she was. 

Next, she found herself climbing the stairs. At the top, there were two directions. On one side was a normal wooden door, leading to what looked like a master bedroom. When she stepped inside, she could see the body of a woman lying in the bed. She looked like she’d been dead for several days, and like she’d been starving for longer. The other door was heavier, more metal. Inside was a small guest room, with a bed and a chair beside it. A full body mirror, as well. Neo stared into it, for a while. Then she looked at the bed. There was something lying on the pillow. Small, hardly noticeable. But even in her hapless mind, Neo’s eyes were keener than most. She stepped nearer.

Something thin, gold-yellow. A few hairs. Familiar ones, too. Ones that she’d been close to. Or at least, ones like them. They belonged to a certain someone she knew. 

It seemed she had a knack for following Yang.

She found herself looking at the mirror again. The hairs were gripped tightly in her palm. She stared at herself, as she stared back at herself. Herself. She wasn’t sure what she was thinking. She tried to look closer, to figure out what was going through her mind right. To understand what she was thinking. A voice, this time one she recognized, whispered something to her.

_ Why die young, when you can live longer? _

Yang’s voice called out to her, responding to Roman’s.

The voice she didn’t recognize came back.

_ But what’s the point? What are you surviving for? _

Yang’s answered back quickly.

_ Because if you die, then they’ll forget who you are. They’ll think you gave up. _

Yang’s voice shot at her with her own, familiar words. Ones that she had used on the blonde before. Neo stared at the mirror, even closer. She could see herself in it. Her eyes trembled and flashed between colors. The mirror began to crack. 

_ The point is to prove. Them. Wrong. _

And the mirror exploded outward, sending shards of glass flying through the room, slashing through the air around her and into the walls behind her. The other voice responded back.

_ Oh, right. Guess I forgot about that. _


	22. Lucid Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhat shorter chapter than usual, and not one I had planned. I just felt the need to write & post it today. Feeling some emotions. The next full chapter will come, just not sure when yet.

**XXII**

**_Lucid Dreams_ **

— — — 

_ “What's the 27 Club? _

_ We ain't making it past 21” _

— — — 

Neo found herself dreaming. 

It had been a long time, she felt like, since she remembered dreaming. And then, she supposed, that it would be a long time still. Even though she was still in the process, still dreaming at this very moment, somehow she knew that she wasn’t going to remember it when she woke up. What told her that? She didn’t know. But she knew. And she was certain of that. 

She’d never been aware she was dreaming, before. That had never happened once in her life, before. Or maybe it had? She wouldn’t remember if it did, would she? But that didn’t matter. What you can’t remember, can’t hurt you. It’s the things you remember that cause the most pain. It’s the things that you can’t forget that can hurt you the most. Right now, she wasn’t remembering. She was dreaming, and she knew it. And she was going to see what her sleep had in store for her, one way or another. Part of her was afraid it would be a nightmare. Another part of her knew all too well that it would be. Too well to even bother being scared of it. So she stepped forward and got on with it. 

The room was black. Pitch black. Too dark to see anything other than her own hands. And even though it was so dark, she still knew it was a room. It wasn’t outside. She didn’t know how she knew. It was a dream. That was probably the reason. Well, she supposed she did know how she knew, after all, then. There was a door, in front of her. A few seconds ago she hadn’t seen it in front of her, but she knew it had always been there. Her fingers wrapped around the knob. It was locked. Then she remembered that the key was in her pocket. She reached down, sliding her hand into the pocket of her jacket. No, not her jacket. She was wearing someone else’s. White, long. Too big for her. Roman’s. The key was small and thin, and it slipped out of her fingers in the pocket a few times. Eventually, she was able to get a firm grip on it. It was golden, and it seemed to shine in the light, even though there wasn’t any light. There was a jewel in the top of the key. Amethyst. It was glittering, too.

The door opened with a click. She wasn’t aware she’d unlocked it, yet, but she didn’t think about it. It swung wide open, leading into another room. It was impossible to see what was inside, but she knew it was a room anyway. She walked inside, carefully, a step at a time. She wasn’t inside yet, but she could already tell what she would find. A small, quaint room, a warm and crackling fireplace burning in front of a soft, cushioned couch. There was something on the couch. Someone. There was someone else in there, too.

She was in a maze, now. The room was at the end of the maze. But she was going to have to find her way there, first. It was going to take some doing.

Stuck in a maze.

_ Oh, oh, oh,  _ she heard the voice come back. The one she couldn’t recognize. It sighed, mumbling to her.  _ Oh, oh, oh. _

Everything’s okay, but it’s not really okay.

 

— — — 

 

“Y’know, Weiss?” Yang spoke up, suddenly. 

“Know what?” Weiss looked at Yang.

They were waiting in the cave, for the sun to come up and the storm to go down. This was the second night they’d spent in that cave before they can finally head out in search of Raven.

“I… I feel like we just…” She trailed, for a moment. “Like our lives go by so quick. Like… I’ve been living fast. So fast.”

“Life is short,” Weiss nodded. “We don’t have much time to make the most of it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Yang said. “And I feel like I used to think I knew what that meant, y’know?”

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know, I just…” She sighed. “You remember that night? At the Mountain Glenn?”

Weiss nodded, slowly.

“I think so,” she said, after a moment. “We talked around the fire, that night.”

“Do you remember what I said?”

Weiss looked at her. The light of the fire made her glassy, pale-blue eyes soft and gentle. Or maybe that was just Weiss herself.

“Yang…”

“Do you remember?” Yang repeated.

“Yes,” Weiss sighed, after a pause. “You talked about living fast and free. I remember.”

“Yeah…” Yang looked at the dirt beneath her. “I feel like I don’t know what that means anymore.”

“You’re a free spirit, Yang,” Weiss looked at her. “You’ve never been one to be held down.”

“Am I though? Really?” Yang looked up. Weiss noticed the sadness in her eyes, which matched the one in her voice. “Am I living free?”

“Yang—”

“Or am I just… flying to my grave?” Yang shook her head. “Like I’m… on some sort of death race, or something…”

Weiss stared at her for a while. Yang was silent, staring at the flame. It seemed to be getting lower, by the second. Or maybe that was just her imagination. Weiss inhaled, and Yang could tell she was going to speak. But she didn’t look up at her.

“Yang…” Weiss looked at her. “I don’t… know exactly what you’re going through, but… I know what it’s like to feel helpless, you know. I know what it’s like to feel like you don’t control your own fate, anymore.”

Yang didn’t respond. 

“When I was young, when I was growing up,” Weiss looked down at the fire, warming her hand over it. “People always wanted me to tell them things. Things like what I was thinking, what I thought about… the current state of affairs, or whatever.”

She blew on her hands and rubbed them together.

“Like I was supposed to know what that meant,” she sighed. “I was a kid. I was 10 years old, singing at concerts and living as an heiress to a wealthy family. And I know I had it easy. Easier than most, at least. But when you’re a child… you don’t know what that means. You don’t know what other people have. You only have what you have.”

Slowly, Yang started to look up. Weiss glanced at her, then continued.

“When you’re wealthy and famous, people don’t care about how you feel,” she went on. “They say they want to understand. But they don’t really  _ care.  _ They think they can read your mind, but… They don’t understand how  _ lost  _ you can feel. If they could really read my mind, all they’d find would be… a lost soul. Rich, and blind.”

Yang was looking at her now. The sadness was still in her eyes, but she was listening closely, at least. After a while, she even spoke.

“That was actually pretty beautiful,” she said, sniffing slightly. “Even rhymed and everything.”

Weiss smiled.

“I’m a singer, y’know,” she said. “I know a thing or two about pretty speech.”

Yang nodded.

“I…” Yang sniffed again, and Weiss thought she noticed a tear in her eye. “I’m just don’t feel like being alone, anymore.”

She rubbed something out of her eye with the bottom of her palm.

“I used to feel warm, and now, I’m…” She shook her head. “It’s like I’m freezing all night long. And not from the blizzard, either. I just can’t deal with the chills on my own.”

Weiss moved closer to her. She put a gentle hand on her shoulder, until Yang eventually met her gaze.

“It’s a good thing you don’t have to, then.”

 

— — — 

 

There were voices whispering to Neo as she walked. Some she recognized, some she didn’t. The twists and turns of the maze were wide, long, expansive. She drifted through, between the walls, searching helplessly for the end. And yet she didn’t even think of finding her way out. The thought of escape didn’t even cross her mind. At least, for right now. 

“Y’know, you seem to go pretty deep, for someone so short,” a voice chuckled. It sounded like Emerald. “You’re a first-rate mystery, aren’t ya?”

Neo felt like she could hear Emerald turning away.

“That bitch's an ocean…” She trailed off.

“If you say so,” another voice shrugged. Mercury. “Seems so goddamn empty, if you ask me.”

Neo brushed them off. She turned another corner. The maze seemed to warp around her, like she wasn’t actually moving. Like she was staying in one place, and the ground and walls moved around her instead. But she paid it no mind. The end was getting nearer. She could feel it.

“So scared, aren’t you…” A voice sneered. It was low and sultry. “Scared of everything. Aren’t you? You act like you aren’t, but it’s a fool’s errand, isn’t it?”

Cinder.

Neo grit her teeth and pushed on.

“Scared of being alone, scared of working together…” Cinder didn’t relent. “Scared of herself, scared of the people around her…”

Neo bit her lip.

“Scared of love…” 

Neo turned to the wall. It was a mirror, and Cinder stared at her from the other side. She glared at her, then kept moving.

“You can try to convince yourself, but you’ll never really believe it, will you?” Cinder continued. 

Neo shut her eyes, still turning the corners and searching for the room. Cinder’s voice seemed to echo in her brain even louder.

“You can’t love someone, it’s all meaningless, so on and so forth,” Cinder smirked. “Life isn’t real, love’s make-believe…”

Neo looked at the mirror again. She stared at it, baring her teeth. Focusing on it, she willed it to explode. To burst into shards, to send glass flying through the maze, to force Cinder away.

It didn’t.

“You can tell yourself what you want,” Cinder smiled. “But I can always tell when you’re lying.”

She lowered her gaze.

“And so can you.”

Neo tried to scream, but it was silent. Her fist catapulted forwards, directly into the wall. The mirror fractured, splitting in every which way. A spider web of cracks stared at her. Cinder was gone, but she was replaced by someone else. Herself, disguised as Polly, emerald eyes gazing into her own.

“Poor, poor, loveless you…” The voice she didn’t recognize returned. “Will you ever find a way? No, not anymore. Who shot cupid, anyway?”

Neo breathed in heavily. Shaky, hot air came in and out of her lungs. She tore her eyes off the mirror and turned, speeding up and walking through the maze. It began to shift around her, straightening. The path turned into a single long hallway, with a faint light at the end. She walked down it, faster, faster. She jogged down it, faster, faster. She ran down it, faster, faster. She sprinted down it, faster, faster, faster, faster, until she couldn’t hear any of the voices any long over her own breathing and panting. The sound of her pulsing blood and beating heart grew louder and louder as she ran, speeding up with the movement of her legs and creating a chorus of drums with the slapping of her footsteps. She was barefoot. She hadn’t noticed that before.

Finally, she reached the doorway. The same door as before. It was shut, locked, again. She fumbled with her jacket, and pulled out the key again. It was golden, still, but the jewel had changed. A scarlet red, ruby gemstone. Her hand shook and shivered as she struggled to push it into the knob. Finally, she felt the click and twisted with all her might. She pushed forward with the full force of her strength— and then the door vanished, and she tumbled to the floor.

Eventually, she found her way back to her feet. They were unsteady, unstable. There was a quaking feeling in her knees. But she stood regardless. 

The room was as she imagined. A small, quaint, warm room, the crackling fire in front of the couch filling the room with the only source of noise at all. Sitting there, on the couch, was him. Roman. He stared at the fire, leaning forward. There was a cigar in his mouth. Slowly, Neo made her way around the edge. As she grew nearer, she felt herself shaking more and more. It felt like she was dredged in ice-cold water. Tears formed in her eyes. She almost couldn’t look at his face. But she found the strength in her to will herself to look at him, to hold his gaze.

“Well, hey now, pinky,” he said when he saw her, smiling warmly. “Long time no see, huh?”

She couldn’t respond. She just stared at him, mouth open, shaking.

“Missed me, huh?” He grinned. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, Neo. I didn’t mean to leave you, you know. You know that, right?”

She trembled, but forced herself to nod faintly. 

“Yeah, well,” he nodded back. “Still, apologies don’t mean much, do they?”

He shook his head.

“Well, anyway,” he said, taking a drag of his cigar. “I promised you that I’d be there for you. Always. If I can’t keep that promise, well, what good is a man who can’t keep a single promise?”

A tear rolled down Neo’s cheek.

“Oh, Neo,” he shook his head. “I know. I promise it will get better. Because it will. One day, you’ll look back, and you’ll think to yourself that it doesn’t hurt as bad as it used to.”

Neo shook her head. The tears began to stream. Roman just sighed. 

“Don’t be afraid,” he smiled gently. “I’m the one who died, and I’ll be fine. You’ll be alright, too.”

He reached out towards her. Through her tears, she stepped forward and gripped his hand tight. She held onto it as close as she could, like a small child and her father. No such thing as too close. Not right now. Not to her. 

“I know, I know…” He said softly.

_ “I won’t let go, I won’t let go, I—” _

“Neo,” he cut her off gently.

Slowly, she opened her sobbing eyes to look at him. He was smiling sadly.

“You have to,” he said.

She started to shake her head as hard as she could.

“Neo,” he cupped her hand in both of his. “You have to.”

He nodded to the side, towards the other end of the room.

“Because there’s someone else waiting for you,” he said. “Someone who’s actually alive. Someone else who actually needs you.”

Slowly, she looked off to where he nodded. The fog in her eyes from her tears faded gradually, and suddenly she could see a long bar at the end of the room. There were several barstools laid out in front of it, all but one empty. It was dark, dimly lit. No one was tending the bar on the other side, so the softly shining glass bottles rested silently on the shelves, untouched and undisturbed. She was sitting in the middlemost seat, across from the taps. Long, blonde hair cascaded like a golden waterfall from her shoulders. It flowed, faintly ablaze, moving down her back as rushing, burning water. Neo approached her slowly, and the crackling of the fire seemed to fade out until it disappeared completely. The gentle light of the overheads streamed down from above, dimmed to the lowest illumination. She drifted through the light until she finally reached the bar. A tall, thin glass of a strawberry-pink liquid was in front of the blonde. A black straw rested inside, and she stirred with it gently. The sound of ice clinking against the glass was the only noise in the whole of the bar.

Yang turned to face her.

“Hey,” she said. “Wassup?”

Neo stared at her silently.

“What are you lookin’ at me like that for?” Yang furrowed her brow. “Have you been crying?”

Neo gave the tiniest shake of her head. Not even consciously. Yang looked forward and sighed, shaking her own head.

“Didn’t leave on the best terms, did we?” Yang said, before nodding. “Bet we both wish that went different, huh?”

Neo nodded, unconsciously again.

“Feels like I’m mourning something,” Yang said. “Not sure what.”

Yang looked back at her again. Neo couldn’t answer.

“Yeah,” Yang said, knowingly. “Guess we’re all mourning something, aren’t we? Missing something. Someone.”

She took a sip from her drink.

“We’ve all got regrets, I suppose,” she went on, almost rambling. “All living in yesterday, still.”

She sighed. Then she lowered her gaze, looking at Neo’s chest. Her stomach, her arms, her legs, her whole body. Soft breathing from Yang mingled the ragged, weak breaths of Neo.

“Y’know, I was thinking,” she said. “Your scars are really gorgeous.”

She looked forward, snorting to herself and shaking her head.

“Ain’t that a weird way to give compliments…”

She took the drink in her metal arm, and turned in her seat towards Neo.

“Well, we’ve all got our scars,” she said. “And I guess they’re all still there for a reason. Things don’t leave scars for nothin’, y’know?”

She held out her glass towards Neo.

“So cheers, then,” she said. “To our scars.”

Neo looked down. There was a glass in her hand. It had the same liquid that Yang was drinking. Slowly, she reached forward with it. It drew nearer and nearer to Yang’s, and there was a faint ringing noise. It grew, and at first Neo couldn’t tell from where it came. Then, as it rose, higher and higher pitched, she could recognize it. It came from her glass. It grew and grew, rose and rose, getting closer to a breaking point as their glasses grew nearer. Finally, as they were about to meet, it came to a head. The glasses shattered in their hands, and the ringing vanished in one sudden second.

 

— — — 

 

Neo was awoken, seemingly by some odd, unrecognizable clinking noise. Her eyes fluttered open, and were met with the cold dirt ground, dampened. Her face was damp, as well. Around her eyes, mainly beneath them. Maybe she’d fallen asleep in snow. It took her a while, to find her way back to her feet, but at the very least, she could hear that the blizzard had faded.

Had she been dreaming?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip, Juice WRLD


	23. Complexities of Suffering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to my regularly scheduled programming! This chapter came along a lot faster than I expected. I didn't think I was gonna write for a little while, after my... emotional headspace, of the previous chapter, but I'm back at it sooner than anticipated. Hopefully the quality of this chapter didn't suffer, because of how quickly I churned it out. Well, regardless, enjoy as always- things are just starting to get interesting...

**XXIII**

**_Complexities of Suffering_ **

— — —  

_ “Is it better to have had a good thing and lost it, or never to have had it?” _

_ — — — _

“It should be this way.”

Even after the wind quieted and the snowfall took an interim, the cold air still bit deep and the ground still held onto them by their shins whenever they lifted their feet. Weiss led them through the snow-capped trees and the pale, cloud-covered sunshine, while Yang stuck close beside her. It had been about a day since the blizzard had let up, and they’d began their hunt for Raven the moment it had. Weiss was doing her best to remember where she’d come from, but it did involve some backtracking and frequenting pausing. Still, Yang trusted her. At least enough to stay with her. Even through the words forming in the back of her mind, telling her what a fool she was. How this was going to end just the same as the rest of them. Just the same as every person she’d ever clung onto before. Because they always leave, one way or another.

It was only a question of when.

“Through these trees here,” Weiss said.

With her long, white hair bouncing behind her head, she led on through the snow. Despite her meticulously crafted appearance and movement, there was something almost… punk-ish, about Weiss. Sure, there was her straight, firm posture, and her carefully maintained outfit. But there was also the way she held her head up and forward slightly. There was the idle swinging of her arms as she walked along with direction, pace, and an almost strut-like stride. It was cute, but it was the kind of cute that comes with an attitude, too. There was a kind of perfect-imperfect-perfect mixture happening, where what was on the outside was necessarily on the inside, but it also wasn’t really on the outside, either. It was a porcelain statue, coated silver, but the silver was chipping away to reveal spray paint. If that made any sense. Which it probably didn’t.

Basically, Weiss seemed to be an opera singer and a rockstar at the same time, and not have any idea which she was supposed to act more in line with.

Yang had never really noticed it much before. But she certainly was noticing it now. Stealing a few glances at her, she smiled to herself softly. Her little sister was lucky to have such an… interesting team partner. Then again, Yang’s partner was fairly interesting as well, wasn’t she? Yang pushed the thought out of her mind just as soon as it formed, but that wasn’t fast enough to avoid it killing her smile. She glanced at Weiss again. Watching as her as they trudged through the thick layers of pale white snow, Yang couldn’t help but think that whoever Weiss decided to fall for would be a very lucky person. Hell, if she Weiss was just a bit more of her type, Yang would probably have been head over heels for her. Thank dust she didn’t wear just a bit more black.

A pit formed in Yang’s stomach when she remembered her realization, in regards to her… history of attraction. 

Yang almost forgot she was staring. Didn’t matter that she didn’t, though, because Weiss noticed anyway.

“What is it?” Weiss asked, a slightly puzzled look on her face.

“What? Oh, nothing, I…” Yang blinked and shook her head. “It’s nothing, just got distracted.”

“You were staring at me,” Weiss said.

“I know, I—” She sighed. “It’s nothing.”

Weiss kept her cool, blue eyes on Yang for a moment longer, then shrugged and looked onward again.

“If you’re sure,” she said.

They walked in silence for a few minutes longer. Trees passed by slowly, sprouting out from the distant horizon and growing as they made their approach, until they vanished into the ether behind them. The light drained from the sky as a puffy, gray mass of cloud found its way over in front of the sun. A thin pair of trees appeared from the skyline, leaning over towards one another until their leafless branches kissed each other and locked their fingers together. Beneath the upside-down V shape, a single icy rock rested in its own silent dormancy.

“Right here,” Weiss slowed as they reached it, pointing at the tree. “I remember here.”

The scar over her left eye contorted and shortened as she furrowed her brow, thinking out loud.

“This way,” she said, pointing to their right. “I think.”

“You think?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “I think.”

Yang shrugged. Weiss turned, beginning to head in that direction. Then she stopped in her tracks. She glanced over her shoulder, to the left of the natural landmark. She bit the inside of her right lip, forehead scrunched slightly. 

“What?” Yang asked after a moment. 

“Actually, it’s this way,” she pointed in the opposite direction.

She turned and started to walk the other way. Yang began to follow.

“Are you sure?” She asked.

“Yes,” Weiss responded. “Wait.”

She stopped again. Yang stopped behind her, and Weiss looked back towards her.

“Now I’m not sure,” she said, biting her tongue.

Yang just sighed. They stood silently again, as they waited for Weiss to recycle her thoughts and review her memories. After a while, Yang started to idly fidget. She shoved her hand in one of her pockets, when she felt something crumple beneath her knuckles. Knitting her brows, she pulled it out of her pocket carefully. Holding it in her palm, she looked down to see a small, yellow, slightly crinkled memory staring back up at her. The origami dragon that Polly— that… Neo, had given her. That was her name. She didn’t know why she remembered it now, but she did. That was her name. Neo. The words that had come with them rewound and played back in her head.

_ Prove. Them. Wrong.  _

She stared at it for a while, almost helpless to look away. Maybe not almost.

“What’s that?” Weiss had noticed her looking down.

“It’s… nothing,” she said, finally pushing it back into her pocket. She zipped that pocket back shut carefully. “Just… a gift. From someone.”

“Who?” 

“No one,” she shook her head. “A friend.”

Weiss nodded simply. She would’ve asked what friend, but she figures she already knew what answer she would get. Some other time, then. So there was nothing much to say, right now. It left a chill in the air, one that didn’t seem to quite be caused by the winter winds.

“Friends are good,” Weiss said, after a while.

It sounded so stupid to her, saying it out loud. Still, it was true. The better that Yang heard it, she thought. Back at Beacon, it wasn’t the type of thing she’d need to tell Yang. Yang was always about making new friends. Weiss remembered that early morning adventure she’d dragged them on. The one that led them to meet Cinder and her team. That was Yang’s doing. Always the sociable one, wasn’t she. These days… not so much. These days, Weiss was starting to feel like Yang was more scared of making friends than she was of losing them. Of course, she was only afraid of the former, because of the latter. Funny how that works. Chicken and the egg, it seemed like.

A thought occurred to Weiss, in that moment. Something worth saying, at least.

“Yang?” She looked up at her, not really waiting for a response. “Did you know that you were one of my first friends? Ever?”

Yang’s face folded into an uncertain expression.

“What?”

“Exactly what I said,” Weiss said. “You, Ruby, Blake. You three were among my first friends. My first real friends, at least.”

“That can’t be,” Yang shook her head, unconvinced. “You were rich heiress, you had to have some friends.”

“That was exactly why I  _ didn’t  _ have any friends, Yang,” she said.

“I—” That gave Yang pause. “I guess I hadn’t thought of that…”

“It’s like what I was saying before,” Weiss elaborated. “People didn’t particularly care how I felt. Most people assumed my life was perfect, since I was so wealthy and well known. I suppose they never figured I was lacking on friends.”

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Yang lowered her head slightly.

“It’s alright, Yang,” Weiss smiled gently. 

Yang raised her head up again, slowly. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, then opened it back up.

“So you… never had  _ any  _ friends?” She said.

“Well, I wouldn’t say I never had  _ any,”  _ Weiss answered. “But I certainly didn’t have many. My sister was my friend, at least when we were on the younger side. And there was this one girl, when I was at Atlas Prep.”

“Atlas Prep?”

“Private school,” she said. “Before attending Beacon.”

Yang nodded.

“So,” she said. “Who was this girl?”

Weiss smiled softly, staring off at the snow.

“Her name was Percilla,” she said, after a moment. “She was a real sweetheart. Her hair was curly red, and she had freckles all over her cheeks. And a big, bright birthmark over her right eye. She was nice to everyone, even when they were so sour and mean to her.”

“Why were people mean to her?” Yang raised an eyebrow.

“Her family wasn’t exactly…” Weiss paused a moment, frowning slightly. “Well off. She had only been able to attend the school on a scholarship. People didn’t necessarily take too kindly to a poorer girl going to the same school as us.”

“That’s not right,” Yang groaned.

“I’m well aware,” Weiss scowled. “But the truth is that it’s what everyone thought, at a place like that. I even found myself falling in line with that thinking, more often than not. It was only after I was forced to be her partner on a project that I realized how special she was. And, eventually… how wrong we were.”

“Well, at least you figured it out,” Yang sighed.

“Thankfully,” Weiss nodded.

“So…” Yang said, after a rest. “What happened to her?”

Weiss sighed. A tired sorrow clung to the pale breath that escaped her lungs, and she stared off at the horizon.

“My… father, discovered I’d grown close with her,” she said, with a quiet pain dulling her voice. “He was unhappy to hear about my friendship with a… ‘scamp,’ as he put it. One day, as the school day was ending, I said goodbye to her before heading home. I didn’t realize it was the last time I would ever say goodbye to her.”

“She…” Yang’s voice trailed.

“Expelled,” Weiss nodded. “There was no need to ask why. I knew. And fought with my father, pleaded with my mother, and cried to my sister. But Percilla never showed up on campus again.”

“I…” Yang shook her head. “I’m sorry. That’s not fair. That’s not…” 

“I know,” Weiss nodded. “But there’s nothing to be done now, I suppose. It is what it is.”

“Still…”

“Besides,” Weiss looked at Yang, smiling. “I was lucky enough to meet you three just a few years later.”

Yang shrugged, burying her hands deeper in her pockets and holding her shoulders up beside her head.

“I guess…”

“My best memories were the ones with you, Ruby, and Blake,” she said. “I’m confident I’m a better person because of you three. You deserve more credit than you’re giving yourself.”

Even despite Weiss’ words, Yang visibly deflated. Any energy or intensity in her body faded off into the air as if it were rubber, and the only movement in her body was her faint breaths and the vague shiver brought on by the cold. Weiss swore she could feel Yang’s heat sizzle and faint, and she knew which word— or name, rather— was it that caused her draining.

“Yang, I…” Weiss started.

Yang looked up at her slowly, her lively, Summer-like lilac eyes drifting off to a pale, wilted gray. Eerily lifeless.

“I’m sure there’s a reason, for…” Weiss struggled to find the right words. How to phrase something like this… “Or, what I mean, is…”

She sighed and shook her head, feeling two chills course through her body— one from the cold, and the other from… well, you know.

“I don’t know why she left, why… Why Blake left, but,” she nodded slowly, not sure if she was doing so for Yang’s sake, or her own. “But I’m sure she had a reason. That she didn’t want to leave you behind, I mean. Or… I…”

She trailed again, immediately feeling like that came out wrong. That feeling was further reinforced by the way Yang’s gaze drooped. And Weiss didn’t know what to say to fix that.

“We had a fight, she and I…” Yang said, after a silent few moments. “A couple weeks before… before this.”

She stared down at her metal arm.

“I know,” Weiss nodded.

“I said some things,” Yang went on.

“Yang…” Weiss said.

“Some things I shouldn’t have said,” she said.

“Yang, don’t…”

“I don’t see how that couldn’t have anything to do with it…”

“Yang, some… argument, isn’t going to make her—” 

She couldn’t finish the sentence.  _ Leave you to die.  _ Because that’s what she did. Mean to or not, petty reason or not, Yang’s survival or not— Blake left her.  _ To die.  _ That was the truth. Those were the  _ facts.  _ There was nothing else to be said about it. Nothing to deny it. And Weiss had to admit… 

It was a pretty bad look.

“Yeah, well,” Yang sighed. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see her.”

“I…” 

Weiss didn’t know what to say. Yang was wrong. She had to be. But… there was really nothing proving that, was there? It all seemed to point in the direction that Yang was pointing in. It sure did seem like Yang was right, this time around. But Blake wouldn’t have left over something so stupid. She wouldn’t. 

_ Would she? _

“Yang?” Weiss exhaled, after a moment, looking up at her and stepping closer.

Yang looked up, but didn’t answer.

“Did you…” Weiss hesitated. “Did you have feelings, for her? More than friendship, I mean.”

“I… Maybe… Maybe once,” she said, sighing. “I think so. But then I met Polly—”

_ Neo.  _ The name rang in Yang’s ear, and for a moment she seemed to almost forget about Blake completely.

That didn’t last, of course. 

“And then?” Weiss said, expectantly.

“…And then, I…” She struggled through the words. “I… I don’t know, I moved on, I guess… I fell for… for someone else.”

“But you still cared about Blake,” Weiss said.

Yang nodded.

“Of course,” she said. “She was my friend, my partner.”

“Then she cared about you,” Weiss said.

“But—”

“But nothing,” Weiss wouldn’t have it. “She cared about you. No little argument could change that.”

“Wasn’t exactly little…”

“Compared to a lost limb, it was,” Weiss said.

That was the first time Weiss had ever said anything so bluntly about Yang’s injury. Yang was almost glad. Like it was finally addressed, right then and there. 

“So that couldn’t have been the reason,” Weiss spoke firmly. “It just couldn’t have been.”

“I…” Yang wasn’t sure what to say.

“Whatever her reason was,” Weiss said. “It was something better than that.”

She stepped closer to Yang, looking up at her.

“You have every right to be upset,” she went on. “But Blake didn’t leave because of anything you did. She left off her own volition. Because of her own issues. Issues that  _ hopefully—” _

She added a bit of attitude to the end of the sentence. 

“She’ll have figured out, by the next time she sees you,” she finished. 

“What makes you think I’m ever gonna see her again?” Yang said, almost surprise audible in her voice.

“Because I’m pretty sure she owes you an apology, still.”

Yang lowered her gaze towards the snow.

“You’ve got a lot more confidence in that than I do,” Yang mumbled after a moment.

“Don’t worry,” Weiss wrapped her arm around Yang’s. “I can share a bit of it.”

She smiled up at her, then eventually pulled her into a hug. Standing so much shorter than Yang, she had to rise up onto her toes to pull her all the way in. But Yang hugged her back, and they held still there for a little while. Eventually, they pulled apart and separated, staring at one another from just outside each other’s warm embrace. Weiss could feel some of Yang’s warmth returning, if a bit slowly. 

Then Weiss nodded in the direction behind herself.

“Come on,” she said.

She turned, keeping her arm hooked through Yang’s, and began to walk beside her. She started slowly at first, until she was sure that Yang was following alongside her.

“It’s this way, I remember now,” she said. “Let’s get going. It’s not getting any warmer out.”

“No,” Yang answered, with a small, weak, but present none-the-less smile. “Guess it’s not.”

 

— — — 

 

It may have taken some convincing, but Weiss was able to get Yang to stop for the night. She’d wanted to keep searching, for them to find their way back to Raven as soon as they could, but Weiss was able to talk her down. Better to keep as much strength as they could, than to collapse from exhaustion in their hunt. Didn’t want to get caught sleeping by the Grimm. Or the cold. Or worse. 

Whatever that may have been. 

They pulled together as good as a camp as they could, with what was available to them at the moment. Yet another small, frail little campfire burning beneath the treetops, radiating the only real warmth for miles, no matter how weak it may be. Their faces illuminated by the flickering flame, the shadows of branches danced along the snow and the trunks of the trees around them. The crackling and splitting of tinder was the only noise to be heard, and that was so quiet that you’d be forgiven for mistaking it for silence. Yang leaned back against a rock, feeling the cold stone press into her jacket and spread a dull pressure through the length of her back. In her left hand, she held a long stick, which she used to press into the snow idly. Weiss sat next to her, humming a gentle tune as she adjusted the cylinder of her weapon. Since they ran into one another, Weiss had gradually begun to move closer and closer to Yang. Now any opportunity, it seemed Weiss was next to Yang and brushing shoulders softly. If Yang didn’t know any better, she’d suspect something’s up. But given the circumstances, she chalked it up to maintaining warmth. The physical kinds, and the emotional kind. Yang wasn’t sure if it helped or not. On the one hand, it seemed possibly rather patronizing towards her.

On the other hand, she certainly wasn’t going to ask her to stop.

Weiss held up her weapon, satisfaction in her eye, and locked the cylinder back into place. Then she placed it carefully beside her and buzzed contently. Glancing up at Yang, her bright blue eyes seemed to glow in the soft firelight. Yang didn’t notice immediately, trying to ignore the grumbling over her stomach. Eventually, she picked up on the staring eyes, and turned her way.

“What is it?” Yang said.

“Nothing,” Weiss responded. “I don’t know, I—”

She was cut off by the sudden intrusion of her own yawn.

“Tired?”

“Maybe a little,” Weiss said, blinking slowly. “I don’t wanna sleep yet, though…”

Her voice was dreary and fluttering, a childlike cadence to it. It reminded Yang of Ruby, when they were younger. Memories of bright silver eyes looking up at Yang, that whimsical wonder she always had whenever Yang let her stay up late with her. Then Weiss sealed the comparison, by dropping her head to Yang’s shoulder— forcefully, though not exactly aggressively, like a flopping kitten that wants to be petted.

“Tell me a story,” Weiss said in a pseudo-demanding tone.

Yang smiled, half chuckling, then looked forward.

“What’s funny?” Weiss pouted.

“Nothing, you just— nevermind,” Yang said. “What kinda story?”

“I don’t know,” Weiss said, inflating her cheeks. “Any story.”

“Okay,” Yang rocked her head back and forth slightly, thinking. “Alright, I’ve got one.”

Weiss listened silently and expectantly.

“There once was a princess,” Yang began.

“Too boring,” Weiss huffed. “Tell me a better one.”

“You haven’t even heard a whole sentence yet,” Yang said.

“I don’t care,” Weiss shook her head against Yang’s shoulder. “Tell me a different one. Without princesses.”

Yang sighed, smirking faintly.

“Fine, fine,” she said. “How about this: There once was a girl who lived in the forest. That better?”

“…You have my attention.”

“Okay,” Yang said. “A girl who lived in the forest. She listened to the trees, and talked to the animals, and—”

“How horribly derivative,” Weiss interjected.

“Do you want to hear it or not?” Yang looked at her.

“…Fine,” Weiss said after a moment.

“Alright— and no more interruptions,” Yang said, leaning forward. “She listened to the trees, and she talked to the animals, and everything in the forest knew her. From the plants to the bugs to the deer to the lions, they all knew who she was.”

Yang began to draw with the stick, painting pictures in the snow half-consciously as she told the story.

“Everyone in the forest knew her, and everyone in the forest loved her, because she loved them. They all listened to her, and they all did as she asked. All except the Snake.”

“Why the Snake?”

“What did I say?” Yang looked at her.

“Sorry,” Weiss said.

Yang looked back at the snow, tracing the length of a long, thin image through the pale white snow.

“Anyway,” she went on. “They all did as she said, except the Snake. The Snake, he didn’t listen. He always did whatever he wanted, and when anyone would tell him to stop, he would slither away.”

She paused for a moment. It had been a long time since she’d thought of this old story. 

“Then, one day, the girl had decided that was enough,” she continued. “She had to know why the Snake did as he pleased, rather than as he was told. She sent a group to find him, and to get him to explain himself. She sent her three most trusted animals to ask him— the Lion, the Elephant, and the Eagle. They went on in search of the Snake, trying to find answers. Little did they know, however, the Mouse— the smallest animal in the forest, had followed along behind them.”

“How is the mouse the smallest? You said there were bugs,” Weiss cut in.

“Weiss—”

“I know, I know,” she sighed. “Continue.”

“As I was saying,” Yang nodded. “The Mouse had followed along, secretly. He was always at the bottom of everything, since he was so small. He wanted the approval of the girl, but she hadn’t let him go along with the other three. So he followed them without telling anyone.”

The shape of the Snake was beginning to take form in the snow beneath her stick,

“So anyway, the three came along to the cave where they knew the Snake was hiding. They went deep inside, until they reached a little hole, covered in vines. They called out, ‘Snake! Snake, come out! We know you’re hiding in there!’ And the Snake responded, ‘If you can come and get me, then I’ll leave. Otherwise, leave me be!’ So one by one, the animals approached the hole, trying to get the Snake to come out. First, the Lion, the strongest of the animals, approached.

“‘Snake,’ he said. ‘Why do you do as you please? Why do you ignore the demands of the princess, when she is so great and powerful?’”

“I thought I said no princesses,” Weiss interceded.

“Shush,” Yang said. “Just let me tell the story.”

Weiss pouted again.

“Fine,” she relented.

“The Snake responded, saying, ‘Why do you do as you’re told? You’re the Lion, you are the strongest and mightiest animal in the forest. What could she do to stop you?’ And the lion responded, ‘Because she is our ruler, and has always been! Now, if you aren’t coming out, I’ll have to get you myself!’ He came forward, trying to get inside the whole, but was too big. Only his snout would fit, so the Snake bit his nose and made him scamper away.

“Next came the Elephant, the biggest animal in the forest. He called to the Snake, ‘Snake, why do you do as you please? Why do you ignore the demands of the princess, when she is so smart and long-lasting?’ To which the Snake answered, ‘Why do you do as you’re told? You’re the Elephant, the largest and biggest animal in the forest. What could she do to hold you down?’ And the Elephant responded, ‘Because she is our ruler, and continues to rule! Now, if you aren’t coming out, I’ll have to get you myself!’ He came forward, and tried to slide his trunk into the hole. But he couldn’t see, so the Snake bit his trunk and made him stomp away.

“Then came the Eagle, the fastest animal in the forest. He called to the Snake, ‘Snake, why do you do as you please? Why do you ignore the demands of the princess, when she is so noble and brave?’ To which the Snake responded, ‘Why do you do as you’re told? You’re the Eagle, the fastest and highest-soaring animals in the forest. What could she do to catch you if you flew away?’ And the Eagle responded, ‘Because she is our ruler, and always will be! Now, if you aren’t coming out, I’ll have to get you myself!’ He came forward, trying to dive gracefully into the hole. But the hole was too small for him to spread his wings once he was inside, so the Snake bit him and made him flutter away.”

Yang sighed, remembering the rest of the story as she went along. The snake was marked in the snow now, staring back up at her.

“Finally, came the Mouse. The other animals hadn’t known he was watching, but now they saw him. ‘Mouse,’ they called. ‘I don’t know what you hope to do, but if you can get the Snake to come out, our princess will be grateful to you!’ So the mouse came forward, and called to the Snake. ‘Snake, why do you do as you please? Why do you ignore the demands of the princess, when she is so big and beautiful?’ To which the Snake responded, ‘Why do you do as you’re told? You’re the mouse, the smallest and tiniest animal in the forest. What could she ever do to find you if you hid from her?’ And the Mouse responded, ‘Because she is our ruler, and she loves us all!’ This time, the Snake responded. ‘Does she love me? Me, the Snake, scaled and slimy? I do not have mighty claws, I am not large, I cannot fly. I am a Snake, with no limbs. Not the strongest, not the biggest, and not the fastest.’ The Mouse looked into the hole, and thought for a moment. Then, he said, ‘Unfortunately, you are also not the smallest.’ He scurried into the hole, before the Snake could see him, hiding in the shadows. When the Snake turned his head, the Mouse pulled on the vines, caving the hole in and making the Snake slither out. 

“The Lion grabbed him, and they brought him to the girl. They all celebrated the defeat of the Snake, and the Mouse was heralded as a hero, now loved by all. Including the princess. The end.”

Weiss giggled.

“That’s a silly story,” she said.

“Yeah, I know,” Yang nodded. “It was always Ruby’s favorite when she was little.”

“Where did you hear it?” 

“That’s…” Yang sighed. “A friend, I… I used to have.”

“I…” Weiss hesitated, sitting up and looking at Yang. “Who?”

“A… a girl, when I was younger, she…” Yang paused throughout the words, a faint pain audible in her voice. “She was my best friend… for a couple years, at least.”

She let out a hefty, weighted breath.

“You know how you said you never had many friends, growing up?”

Weiss nodded.

“Well, I had something sorta similar,” Yang said. “I mean, I had friends. I won’t act like I didn’t. But… best friends? I… never really had many of those. She… Erika, was her name, she… she was the only best friend I ever had. She was the only person other than Ruby that I was ever really close with. And I mean…  _ really  _ close.” __

“What… happened?”

“She…” Yang went silent, briefly. “From when I was nine, ‘til I was eleven, she and I were inseparable. I met her at grade school, and we hit it off. She was smart and funny and always knew how to make you smile. We would get into all sorts of trouble together, all the time. We were inseparable.”

A faint, distant smile grew on Yang’s face. The snow seemed to suck her down and pull her inwards. Like she was sinking deeper into the Earth as she spoke.

“I remember when we got caught spray painting a wall,” she kept that faded, sad smile on her lips. “Neither of us had ever done graffiti before, so it came out looking like some orange and pink turd. It was supposed to be flowers.”

Yang laughed, but only half-heartedly. Weiss wasn’t sure if she was supposed to laugh, too, but something told her that she shouldn’t.

“We always had some dumb plan to get each other out of trouble, and it would always end up getting the both of us deeper in the shits.”

Yang shook her head, and the smile lost its grip.

“We told planned on going to combat school— Signal— together,” she went on. “And then we’d go to Beacon together. She was always nervous about the idea of leaving Vale, so I promised I’d go wherever she wanted. Stay with her.”

Yang paused again. Slowly, she began to lean back. Leaning her back over the top of the rock, she stared up at the sky. The moon, its shattered bits splayed outwards like leaves on invisible branches, gazed down at her through the treetops, peeking through a brief respite from the clouds.

“And she promised me she’d help me find my mom,” she began again, her voice held down by a thousand anchors, dragging it to the bottom of the sea of her heart. 

“Yang…” Weiss started. 

Yang didn’t interrupt her. Weiss just didn’t know how to continue. So her voice trailed, and her sentence faded off into the stars hidden behind the trees and clouds above.

“There was a school dance,” Yang didn’t sound like she had the strength to continue, but she did anyway. “A mixer, really. Just a simple little party for the soon to be graduating grade-schoolers. She and I went together, by ourselves, together… She always wore orange and pink, but she had this little black dress on, one I knew was a hand-me-down from when her mom was younger, and I… I don’t know how I hadn’t seen it before, but she…”

She closed her eyes, keeping them shut lightly. The sky was staring at her, and she was tired of watching it judge her.

“We were on the bleachers outside, and she looked so pretty beneath the stars…” She said.

Her eyes opened again. The black sky was still staring at her. She sat up. If it wanted to judge her, it could judge the top of her head. The fire had dimmed in front of them, flickering and burning out its final wisps of life. The snow beneath her sparkled like diamonds in the low, soft light. 

“I was eleven, I had never kissed anyone before, but…” She went on. “I had seen plenty of movies. It seemed like the right moment, from what I always saw.”

She stared down in front of her. The snake in the snow was still slithering in place across from her.

“I guess it goes without saying that she didn’t feel the same way I did,” Yang shook her head. “We never did get over that. We stopped hanging out pretty soon after. People always asked about it, but I never said why. I don’t think she did, either. We graduated that year. I went to Signal, like we planned. Her family moved to Vacou, and she went to school there.”

She looked up, staring at nothing.

“I guess she got over her fear of leaving Vale,” she sighed.

“Yang, I’m sorry,” Weiss managed, finally.

“Of course, it wasn’t like my life was miserable,” Yang added. “I had other friends. I made new friends. I had another crush later on, although I realized what that was much faster. And I had other less serious things. But no best friends. And no Erika.”

“I know it must’ve hurt, Yang, but…” Weiss decided to speak, putting her hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “You don’t have to run away from things like that. You don’t have to let it hurt you anymore. Best friends… they don’t always go like that.”

“Blake did,” Yang said, without hesitation.

“Yang…”

“And that’s fine,” Yang grit her teeth. “It’s like you said. It’s nothing I did.”

“Yeah,” Weiss nodded.

“But it still went like that anyway,” she said. “So what’s the only constant, there?”

“Twice is hardly enough times to come to that kind of conclusion, Yang,” Weiss pursed her lips.

“Really?” Yang looked at Weiss. “Happened with my mom, too. Happened with Polly, happened with—”

Yang stopped dead in her tracks.

“Yang?”

“I wish I never lost her…” Yang mumbled, almost to herself.

“I know, Yang—”

“I’m not talking about Blake,” she cut her off.

She closed her eyes tight, swallowing hard. A harsh, hot, heavy breath escaped her nose, rolling out over her sealed lips. Eventually, she opened her eyes and unlocked her mouth.

“Polly, she…” Yang started, not looking at Weiss. “She came back. Found me, after the Fall. She… was the one who helped me. Helped me get the robot, to make the arm. Helped me get here. And she wasn’t who she claimed to be.”

“I— What?”

That was quite a bit to process all at once.

“Do you remember Roman Torchwick’s partner? Neo?”

“I… The pink-haired one?”

“Yeah,” Yang nodded. “Well, turns out she can disguise herself as whatever she wants, pretty much.”

“She…” Weiss, looked down, her eyes widening from realization. “She was…?”

“Yep,” Yang bit her lip.

“What… What did she want?”

“Don’t really know,” Yang shook her head, then sighed. “Revenge… I think. Against whoever she thinks is responsible for Roman’s death.”

“So she…”

“Used me, yeah,” Yang said. “Right in front of my face, and I was too stupid to figure it out.”

“Yang, that’s not—”

“I fell for her once, and I was starting to fall for her again. Twice.  _ Twice,  _ I thought I knew who she was enough to  _ love  _ her. And both times… Well, here I am.”

She snorted and shook her head.

“Guess Blake was right about her after all…”

“Yang,” Weiss looked at her, gripped her shoulder tight. “Look at me.”

Rolling her eyes, Yang didn’t turn.

_ “Yang,”  _ Weiss spoke through her teeth.

Inhaling slowly, Yang looked and face her.

“It’s not your fault,” Weiss said.

“Well—”

“It’s  _ not. Your. Fault,”  _ Weiss repeated. “I don’t know how many times you need to hear it, but I’m going to say it until you finally understand it.”

She leaned in and held Yang tightly by her jacket. 

“It’s not,” she said, pointing at Yang’s chest with her right hand. “Your fault.”

Yang looked at her. She held her in her gaze, close and tight. For a moment, tears seemed to form over the pools of lilac that stared at Weiss. Then she reached up and sniffed, wiping the moisture away with her sleeve.

“I wish I never met her,” she said, voice shaky and weak.

“I know,” Weiss leaned in to hug her, once more.

“I wish I grew up normal,” Yang said.

“Me too,” Weiss answered.

“I… I wish I had more wishes,” Yang said.

Weiss didn’t respond. Slowly, she pulled away and looked up at Yang. 

“It’s alright,” she said. “Just get some sleep. Okay?”

Yang sniffed again, then nodded.

“I… Okay,” she said.

Weiss smiled softly, then rested her head on Yang’s shoulder again. They sat there, leaning against the rock in the silent, snowy darkness, for a while.

“It was a pretty story, you know,” Weiss said, randomly.

“Yeah,” Yang nodded. “I never really liked how it ended, though.”

Weiss looked up at her, a slightly questioning expression on her face.

“Didn’t seem fair,” Yang said, after a moment. “Poor snake just wanted to live his own life.”

 

— — — 

 

When Yang awoke, it was still dark out. Her eyes fluttered open, and the first thing she noticed was the bone-chilling stillness in the air. The restrictive grasp seemed to vibrate through the motionless world around her, reverberating through the blackened void and the pooling silence. The embers of the flame had all died out, and the lifeless pile of charred tinder and ash lie in a hush across from her. And standing just a few feet out from it was a figure. Yang’s eyes widened and she sat up quickly, a sharp inhale catching in her throat. Nothing could be felt lying against her right shoulder, and that was when she remembered Weiss. The figure was standing up straight, head tilted, swaying slightly in the windless woods. Pale, dazed, it faced away from her, staring off at the horizon. It wasn’t quite all black out, after all. The sun had just begun rising on its path into the sky, the faintest sunlight visible over the skyline. The sun wasn’t actually visible yet, though, so all there was was the eerie, dreadful orange glow creeping across the sky. That was when Yang recognized the figure.

“Weiss?” Yang started to rise, getting a hold of her footing.

Weiss was standing still, motionless save for that slight idle swaying. She didn’t respond when Yang spoke to her.

“Weiss, what is it?” 

Yang asked, but she didn’t expect an answer. Something was wrong. The air was far too thick and suffocating for everything to be normal. Yang approached her slowly, putting out a hand carefully and placing it on her shoulder. Weiss reacted as if on a delay, her head suddenly beginning to turn slowly after several seconds had passed. She stared at Yang, her pale blue eyes wide and vacant, and tilted her head slightly. She didn’t speak. She simply stood, her face expressionless and empty, like a doll's.

“Weiss, what’s going on?” Yang tried to get an answer. “What’s wrong?”

She didn’t respond. Her eyes seemed to look through Yang, like she didn’t quite see her. Or maybe she wasn’t sure if she was really there.

“Weiss—”

“Shhh…” Weiss hushed her slowly.

Then she turned her head, staring back off towards the horizon. Her ear twitched visibly, like it was listening carefully for something.  _ To  _ something.

“Weiss… What’s going on? Why aren’t you asleep?”

Weiss slowly turned to look at Yang again, still that beady sightlessness in her pupils.

“Can’t sleep…” She spoke slowly, in a dreamlike state.

“Why not? What’s the matter?” Yang put her other hand on Weiss, trying to steady her swaying.

“Too loud,” she said, practically whispering it. “It’s far too loud…”

“Too… loud?” 

Yang glanced around, not hearing anything but the silence that enveloped them. A ball felt like it was beginning to form in Yang’s gut. Was there something out there? Something stalking them.

“The whispers… the voices,” Weiss said, tilting her head towards the treeline. “They won’t stop.”

“Weiss… I don’t hear anything.”

Yang couldn’t help but swallow. Weiss looked up at her, quiet curiosity beginning to form in her eyes— the first emotion she’d displayed since Yang woke up.

“The trees, they keep whispering…” Weiss said. “You can’t hear them?”

“Can you… hear them now?”

Weiss listened silently.

“Yes…” She said, after a moment. “They’re fading, but they’re still there. Can’t you hear?”

“Weiss, no one’s saying anything…”

They stared at each other. Yang held Weiss tightly by both of her shoulders. The husk of Weiss’ expression gazed back at her, only displaying the faintest tinge of confusion. A single, soft gust of wind blew by, and the silver-white bangs on Weiss’ forehead brushed her skin lightly. 

“Weiss… You’re scaring me.”

“I…”

Gradually, Weiss’ pupils began to expand. A look of awareness grew in her eyes, slowly climbing its way up from off in the distance, until it finally found its way right onto the surface. What little color Weiss usually had in her skin began to creep back into her cheeks. Her lower lip quivered vaguely, and she blinked. 

“I…”

“Weiss,” Yang tried to shake her gently. 

“Yang, I…”

“Weiss, what’s the matter? What’s happening?”

“I… I don’t know, I…”

Yang pulled her in close, hugging her tightly. It felt like they’d done a lot of that, lately. Certainly a lot more than they used to. They both seemed to need quite a lot of it, these days. 

“I… I don’t understand…” Weiss mumbled, her dazed voice slowly catching up with the rest of her body's lucidity. “I could hear them, I… I swear I could hear them…”

“It’s okay,” Yang whispered, her voice shaken and unsettled. “It’s alright now, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The truth was, Yang was terrified. Completely, and absolutely. She still had no idea what had just happened. What was happening. She didn’t know if something was hurting Weiss. She didn’t know if they were in trouble. She didn’t know if it was dangerous to be this close to Weiss, right now. But Weiss needed her. She could see that, as clear as day. That was all that mattered right now. 

“There’s nothing,” Yang put her hand on Weiss’ head, caressing her hair gently. “Nothing’s there… nothing’s gonna hurt you…”

“B-but…” Weiss stammered, shivering as her wavering voice struggled through, word by word. “They were there… I… I know they were there, I… I could hear them…”

Yang didn’t know what she was supposed to say. So she didn’t say anything. All she did was stand there, firm on her feet, stable and stalwart, holding Weiss steady for her— for the both of them.

Things had to just keep getting more complicated, didn’t they… 


	24. Such Is Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter finally, after a couple weeks! Been waiting to get here for a while now, so I'm glad we're finally this far. Anyways, not much to say- just enjoy. Also, happy holidays, and here's to the new decade!

**XXIV**

**_Such Is Life_ **

— — — 

_ “You, me, or nobody is gonna hit as hard as life.  _

_ But it ain't about how hard ya hit.  _

_ It's about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward.” _

— — — 

Isn’t it almost bizarre, how you never know when you’re asleep? Neo felt that way, at the very least.

You never know you were asleep until you wake up. Only then, do you realize. Beforehand, you can’t tell. You just can’t. It’s impossible to know that you’re asleep, and you can’t even figure out when you started sleeping. Sometimes you can barely tell when you stopped being asleep. You can only guess. And then there are dreams. It can be impossible to tell the difference between dreams and reality, sometimes. Reality and dreams. The difference isn’t apparent until you’re not dreaming. But then, what if you’re only dreaming that you’re not dreaming? Is anything possible, when you’re dreaming? Could you dream that you woke up, went on with your life, lived it to its fullest, without ever know you’re dreaming? Would you dream within your dream? When you wake up in a dream, do you wake up in reality? Or do you simply dream that you never woke up?

And what happens, then, when you realize that even though you know the difference between dreams and reality, you don’t really truly know which is which? Because you can’t. There’s nothing to compare it to. What if your sense of dreaming is actually reality, and your sense of reality is actually dreaming? What if every time you go to sleep and dream, that’s actually the real world, and when you’re awake and walking around,  _ that’s _ the dream? How could you know? How could you tell?

So then what is a dream? And that question cannot be asked without asking, as well— what is real?

Neo hadn’t realized she’d been sleeping. Not until she was awoken by the sound of growling. Her eyes shot open, switching from brown to pink, and she shot up. The growling continued, and it sounded like it was coming from above her. She rolled onto her hands and feet, eyes slowly adjusting to the dark of night, only dimly lit by the pale moonlight dripping from the heavens. Her eyes scanned the treeline, searching for the source of the noise. It kept growling, but she couldn’t distinguish anything from the dark pine tree branches. There was a rustling, and the growls moved overhead. Some of the branches shook and quivered, and she could hear the faint sound of slobbering drool. Whatever was above her, it was wild and rabid, and she could almost make out the sound of gnashing teeth. Almost.

Neo didn’t know for sure if she was awake or dreaming. You just couldn’t tell. But right now, it didn’t seem like it mattered too much. Better to treat it like it’s real than to risk it by acting like it isn’t. 

The susurration from above grew louder, and a heavy ragged breathing began to sit in the air, filling Neo’s ears from one to the other. The vague scratching of claws and talons against tree bark was hardly loud enough to register among the rest of the wild, feral cacophony. Neo kept her eyes peeled, staring at the treetops over her. Carefully, quietly, she drew her stiletto blade from her parasol top, holding it tight and bracing against her free arm. She took a single step back, her brown and white boot slicing through the snow beneath her. Since losing Yang, she’d been free to wear her normal, undisguised self. The blacks of her outfit had been replaced with brown and pink once again, and the white remained. The only remnant of the Polly alter ego was the dark crimson scarf that still clung to her neck and shoulders, seemingly pulled tighter since being left behind with it by its previous owner. It may not have matched with the rest of her look, but that didn’t seem to bother her. Those kinds of worries were very far away, at the moment. 

The rustling resumed, and some of the trees shook. Pines rained from above, sprinkling the cold ground beneath them. She brushed some of them out of her hair, and they stuck to her sleeve. Some pinecones tumbled down from the trees, plopping little holes into the snow all around. Then, like a black blur, a pitch dark object fell from the branches and landed beneath the frost. It hid there, hidden in the pale white hole. Staring at the pit, Neo slowly made her approach. For a moment, there was no movement. Silence, other than the faint sound of Neo’s own visible breath. Until she realized that she could still faintly hear the wheezing and drooling. But now it was in front of her.

Before she could get to close, the creature burrowed through the snow. It moved at her in a flash, rushing and disrupting the white blanket that covered it. Snow sprayed from behind it, and there was a distinct hissing sound. Then, not a second later, it launched into the air at her faster than she could blink. Twisting herself to the side, it just barely grazed by her, sharp hard objects scraping through the puff of her sleeve.

As she whirled around, she had just enough time to catch a glimpse of it before it vanished into the snow once more. Dark black fur like midnight, it looked like a small, almost ball-like creature. Its hind legs were small and thin, long feet with an attached to round but strong upper legs, like a rabbit’s. Jagged objects, almost like stone, seemed to poke out of the creature's body almost at random, bony white in color. Then it was gone all over again, back into the depths of the cold snow.

A Grimm, to be sure. Although not one Neo had ever seen before. 

It growled again, turning through the snow and darting at her once more. It launched out once again, from the other side this time, and she barely had time to duck out of the way. It sailed just over her, the venomous hissing sound stinging from just beside her ears. Glistening black drops of drool dripped onto her shoulder from its maws, and in an instant it burrowed down once again. Neo spun in time to see it careening through the snow at her a third time, but this time, when it shot into the air, she was ready. Slicing her blade through the air, she caught the Grimm with the edge of her weapon just before it hit her. It spiraled through the air, landing tumbling onto the ground a few feet to her left. It rolled and landed on its feet, and this time she was able to catch a full glimpse of her bestial assailant.

Face pure black, much like its rear, with beady glowing red eyes. It was about as tall as her knee, and it seemed as wide as herself. Its wild, fanged face was that of a rabbit, as were the tall ears that stood from the top of its head. Beside the ears, however, also sprouted a pair of long, twisted, and gnarled bone-white antlers. The edges were sharp and jagged, and some of them seemed to have grown backward and pierced into the creature's own body. The stone-like white objects appeared to be made of the same material as the antlers, growing out every which way. Rather than front paws, the Grimm had tough white bird-like talons, razor-sharp claws digging into the ground beneath them. The black spit that it slobbered viciously splattered onto the ground, until the beast once more darted downwards into the ice.

Readying her weapon again, Neo stared at where it had burrowed. She waited, preparing for when the jackolopian horror began to rush at her again.

She certainly felt awake, right now. 

This time, however, it didn’t move. She waited and waited, expecting movement any moment now. It was only when she suddenly heard a faint crumbling noise behind her that she realized her mistake.

Having dug even deeper than before, the Grimm burst from the snow behind her just as she began to turn, hurtling through the air straight for her head. She tried to avoid the hit, but the crooked horns sliced through the side of her cheek. Despite the shallowness of the cut, she felt the wound begin to sear. An intense stinging feeling grew sharply in her cheek, and a dull ache coursed down through the rest of her slowly. She tried to shake it off as best as she could, but it stunned her for long enough. The creature burst through the snow once again, slicing its antlers through the side of her right arm. 

Neo felt her hand seize up suddenly. The stinging grew in her arm even more quickly, and the feeling was paralyzing. An almost parasitic sensation seemed to grow through the veins of her arm, locking it up and preventing any movement in it at all. Her fingers, still tense and tight, began to forcibly spread from the poison. Her weapon dropped into the snow beneath her. She tried to reach for it with her other arm, but the pain fogged her mind and blurred her vision. She stumbled, and the Grimm flew through the air again. Luck was on her side, because she as she struggled to stand, she felt the whipping wind of the creature just barely breezing past her face. She reached for her weapon again, but her fingers just buried into the freezing snow. The doubling of her vision made it nearly impossible to trace what she was seeing to what was directly in front of her.

The rabbit-abomination scurried through the snow, darting towards her and launching at her heels. It sank its teeth into her ankle, sending a sharp pain through her leg. The pain wasn’t as debilitating or severe as the stinging cuts of the antlers, but it still seemed to cripple her movement. Kicking her leg, she tried to throw the beast off of her. It held fast, tightening the grip of its jaws and digging its teeth in further. Her right arm laid out weakly in the snow, while her left scrambled and swiped randomly for her weapon. Finally, in one final grasp of desperation, she felt her fingers wrap around ice-cold metal. Ripping her sword from the snow by the blade, she slashed at it with the parasol-handle hilt. The handle knocked against the horns, but the creature didn’t flinch. Trying not to bite off her own tongue, she lashed out at it again and again. It seemed to hardly notice her strikes. Thinking fast, she inhaled sharply and leaned forward. The creature bit harder, but she threw the curved handle of the weapon around one of the beast’s jagged points. Pulling with all her might, she felt some of her skin and muscle tear from her ankle as she finally ripped the creature off of her and through it through the air. 

Once more, it landed on its feet. It stared at her, snarling and slobbering all over again. Neo remained on the ground, looking weakly at the creature as it prepared another assault. It stretched its legs and kicked up snow, before beginning to gallop straight for her once more. Neo let her weapon fall against her body and reached to her waist for the other half of her parasol. She pulled the other end free, flicking it open and throwing it in front of her. It propped against her, and she pulled herself behind it. It leaned like a makeshift ramp, and the wild Grimm ran up it like one. Its slobbering growls and grunts could be heard from the other side as it dashed up the shield and leaped over the top. On the other side, as it twisted in the air to face Neo, it was greeted with a sight. She sat there, sitting up halfway, one eye closed, her injured arm feebly braced against her thigh to prop up one end of a long, black shaft. Her other arm was against her chest,  holding the other curved end of the black stick. The end facing the creature was open, a small reticle sitting above a dark black hole. 

Neo held her breath, and after the air seemed to hang still for a moment, pulled the trigger on Roman’s cane.

A fiery flare launched from the cane, straight into the gut of the Grimm, exploding it and sending it careening into the trees. Neo waited a moment. When there was no sound of movement, she slowly climbed to her feet. Standing up straight was a struggle, so she leaned on Roman’s cane as she collected her weapon and hung the umbrella half of it on her waist again. Limping along, she made her way to the aftermath of her attacker, raising the sharp end of her weapon slowly. The Grimm was laying there, not moving other than its weak and belabored panting. One side buried in the snow, its unobscured red eye seemed to stare up at Neo. As she raised her weapon for the killing blow, the creature’s eye rolled back. Its last inhale deflated slowly, and out from its maws poured a dark, purple miasma. It rose in the air quickly, and Neo didn’t cover her face in time. Some of the corrupt smoke slipped through her nostrils before she could cut it off, and she turned to run as the fit of coughing began.

She wasn’t sure how long she ran for. The world seemed to stand still, and the trees seemed to get further away with every step. She hacked and coughed, struggling to feel her own breath come through her throat or out of her lungs. The already blurry and doubled vision of her eyes was further hazed by the water that built up in front of them, and she stumbled through the snow on one good leg. Reaching out with her working arm, she felt the bark of a tree against her palm. She searched for stability, for something firm and strong, but the tree seemed like neither. The world seemed to tilt beneath her feet, and she could almost feel the million mile an hour rotation of the planet as it hurdled through the cosmos. Spinning herself, her knees buckled and she felt to shins and hand. A sudden fullness overwhelmed her gut, and she felt everything evacuate her stomach at once, through her throat. She spat and gagged, and the pool of vomit beneath her practically looked like it was moving. Swaying in the air, the world seemed to grow dark and the sky caved in around her. Finally, her arm gave way and she fell to her side, sinking into the snow beneath her.

She didn’t have time to wonder if she would dream, or not.

 

— — — 

 

The frost crunched beneath their boots as they walked under the slowly rising sun. Thin clouds passed by in overhead, shining pale light of the white sky down onto them. A soft breeze dusted snow from the pines and tickled their backs gently, too weak to truly remind them of the harsh blizzard winds that had assaulted them in the days recently passed. A soft chirping rang from the treetops up above; it seemed not all the birds had fled from their nests after all. Or maybe some of them had just decided to come home early. There hardly appeared to be any evidence of the ruthless environment this forest had occupied not just a few days ago. Other than the occasional wind-torn debris, like the scattered twigs and branches in the snow or the infrequent tilted tree, it felt as though they were walking through a proper winter wonderland. For the first time in ages, the woods they marched through seemed to live, to breath signs of life around them. Almost like something out of a fairy tale. 

Yang did not feel as though she was in a fairy tale, though.

Maybe a twisted one. One where the animals judged and the trees turned a shoulder to you. Where there was no evil witch, and the princess was the one that you would need to concern yourself with. 

The princess who marched beside her.

“So…” Yang began to speak up.

Silence had persisted between them since the sun had risen. Silence in a forest that had finally decided to relinquish its hold on noise. It was strange, how that affected it. The silence between them seemed much more intense when there were sounds outside that continued to sing. 

The silence would continue for a moment longer, as Yang searched for what to say.

“About last night…” Yang started, hesitating as she went.

“Yang,” Weiss sighed sadly. “I… I don’t know what you… what you want me to tell you, I…”

“I don’t know either,” Yang shook her head. “But… I know that last night wasn’t normal. Not for me. And I’ve never seen it from you, so I don’t know if it’s normal for you either.”

“I…” Weiss didn’t seem to have any words at her disposal.

“I know,” Yang said. “I just… Can you try? Can you give me something?  _ Anything?”  _

“I don’t…” Weiss struggled. “I don’t know, Yang. I don’t even really know what happened.”

Yang sighed and closed her eyes. Her head tilted down as they kept walking. A regular pickle, this one was.

Regular didn’t seem like the right word, actually.

“What did you hear?” Yang asked finally, opening her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Weiss said. “I don’t know, Yang. I just… I remember hearing something. I remember that I heard something. I don’t remember anything before that.”

“Nothing?”

“Not clearly,” Weiss shook her head.

Yang paused.

“Not clearly,” Yang repeated. “Or nothing at all?”

“I—” Weiss started, then lost her tracks immediately. “I don’t…”

“You were talking about whispers,” Yang recalled. “About the trees whispering— Weiss, what does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Weiss' voice trembled, slightly. “I never know, I—”

She couldn’t find her way to the end of her own sentence.

“Weiss,” Yang tried to speak as gently as she could. “Has this happened before? Ever?”

“I… I don’t know, I…” Weiss spoke slowly, carefully. Like she was remembering. “I think… Maybe. Maybe. Sometimes, I remember things. Like… like memories.”

“Memories of what?”

“I don’t know,” Weiss said. “But they don’t seem like they could be real. They don’t match with my life… but they  _ feel so  _ real.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know how to explain it…” Weiss said, then groaned and shook her head. “They just feel real. Like they’re  _ my  _ memories. But they can’t be… I don’t know how they could be real, but I can’t push away the thought that they are.”

“Was last night like that?” Yang asked.

“No, that was different, I—” Weiss stared at the snow. “Other times I feel like there are just gaps… things that I can remember, but there’s something missing. Like a blank spot, something that I  _ should  _ remember, but I just  _ can’t.  _ Even if I can remember everything else vividly.”

They had reached a partial clearing in the woods. A small open area, where there was a bit of a gap in the trees. On the far side of the miniature field lay a massive boulder, maybe just shy of twice Yang’s height, snow-capped and lonely by the edge of the treeline.

“And last night was like that,” Yang nodded.

“Yes— I mean, I think so, I…” Weiss let a frustrated moan out from between her teeth. “I don’t know, anymore… I feel like I don’t know anything, anymore.”

“Has this always happened? How come we never saw this before?”

“I don’t know,” Weiss was practically shouting, at this point. “I don’t know, I don’t know! Everything’s so muddied and fogged, and— and—”

Yang stopped in her tracks and grabbed Weiss. She wrapped her arms around her back and pulled her in tight. Putting her hand through the hair on the back of her head, she held her there in her gentle warmth, keeping her close.

“It’s okay, Weiss,” Yang whispered to her softly. “It’s gonna be okay.”

“I don’t know what’s happening to me, Yang, I…” 

The tremors in her voice were even clearer, now. Yang felt some tears drop onto her shoulder beside her. But eventually, Weiss put her arms around Yang in response.

“I feel like I don’t know what’s real anymore,” Weiss mumbled weakly into Yang’s shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Yang rubbed her scalp lightly. “We’ll figure it out. You’ll figure it out, I know you will.”

Slowly, she looked down and tilted Weiss’ head up.

“Okay?” She said, smiling down at her warmly.

How quickly, it felt like, their roles could be reversed.

“I…” Weiss sniffed, wiping a tear from her eye. “Okay.”

Eventually, they parted. Weiss slowed her breathing and calmed her mind, and her body followed suit shortly after. They started to move again a few moments after, trudging onward through the ice all over again. Weiss seemed to be nearer, physically, to Yang than before, so the blonde made sure to stick close to her as they walked. They were silent once more, simply sharing each other’s warmth and company through the cold. There were still birds chirping somewhere up above. Yang suddenly realized how long it felt since she’d been able to trust someone, like this. Since someone had trusted her, like this. Really, it most likely hadn’t been that long. But it felt like it had been longer than she could even remember. So she smiled to herself quietly, thinking that maybe, as dark as things seemed, maybe it wasn’t quite as grim as it appeared all the time.

Then she remembered what they were doing out here in the first place.

“So,” she began, her smile fading before Weiss could turn. “How much further?”

“I’m… not sure,” Weiss said. “I think I remember here, but it’s a bit of a blur. I think I was still running when I passed through here… which means we’re probably close.”

“Oh,” Yang nodded. “Right.”

It almost sounded like she was disappointed. Even Yang herself had noticed that. But she tried to push that thought away.

“Yang,” Weiss started. “Do you feel… nervous?”

Yang laughed, and the anxious cadence of the laugh already betrayed the answer. 

“Yeah, maybe,” Yang answered eventually. “Maybe a little, but I… I don’t know, I’m fine. I’m fine.”

Weiss looked at her carefully.

“It’s okay to be nervous, you know,” Weiss said. “You don’t have to pretend to be ready if you’re not.”

“Well, I am,” Yang said. “Or I have to be, at least. So I am, or… or something, I don’t know. I wanted this, after all, right? So I’m fine. I’m okay.”

Weiss sighed.

“It’s going to be okay, Yang,” she said.

“Wasn’t I the one saying that, a few minutes ago?” 

And how quickly the roles could reverse back, couldn’t they?

“I’m fine,” Yang continued. “I mean, I don’t… know what I’m gonna say, or anything like that, or… but I’m fine.”

“Yang…”

“I mean,” Yang seemed to ramble, almost. “This is something that I have to do, so I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m… if I’m ready, or whatever, but I’m gonna need to be ready, so I’ll figure it out. I’ll figure something out.”

She laughed, but the anxiousness had yet to flee her voice.

“It’s just my mother, after all,” Yang went on. “Just my own mother… Mother I’ve never met before, don’t know, hardly know anything about, and…”

She shook her head.

“But she’s my mother, right, so… so…” Her voice trailed behind herself, slightly, and it seemed to weaken. “I don’t know… How I’m going to face her, I…”

She stared at the snow.

“I mean, how can I face her? How can I…”

Weiss cut her off by reaching out. She gripped her arm firmly, pulling Yang’s attention towards herself. 

“Yang,” Weiss said. “It’s okay. I know it seems impossible, right now, but we’ve overcome worse.  _ You  _ have overcome worse. You’ve come this far, haven’t you?”

Yang raised her head slightly.

“It’s okay to be afraid,” Weiss nodded. “It may be hard to believe, but I might have an idea of how you feel about her.

“How?”

Weiss sighed.

“My mother wasn’t exactly… around, for a lot of my life. Physically, she was, but emotionally, mentally…”

She shook her head.

“At the very least, I know what it’s like to want a mother who never seemed to be there for me.”

She smiled softly at Yang.

“It will be okay,” she repeated. “I’m here for you, through all of this. And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Yang looked at her, a sad fear in her eyes. Weiss wasn’t used to seeing Yang afraid. Yang had grown used to feeling this way, though.

“What if it isn’t okay, though?”

Weiss looked at her, giving her an almost stern glare.

“It will be,” Weiss said firmly. “And if it isn’t, then we leave. As simple as that.”

They stared at each other in silence, for a moment.

“As simple as that…” Yang said, finally. 

She shook her head, but when she finished some of the fear seemed to have faded from her eyes. 

“Okay,” she said after a second.

“Good,” Weiss said, smiling faintly. “Then let’s keep moving. We’re almost there, right?”

“Right,” Yang nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They began to walk once more, making their way through the field of ice and snow yet again. How ever-present, this cold landscape seemed to be. Would winter ever end, anytime soon? Who knows, anymore.

Who knows anything, anymore.

The birds knew something. Something before Yang and Weiss did. They went silent and fluttered off, when they sensed the movement through the trees. The sound of two people approaching— a pair stalking, the pair, through the woods and under the green pines beneath the pale, white light of the sky above. Yang and Weiss noticed, eventually, if a second too late. They hardly had time to move, before it began.

The birds always seemed to know when a fight was coming.

 

— — — 

 

The land of dreams was not kind to Neo. This much, at least, she had gotten used to by now.

It was always hard to remember your dreams. The worst ones stay with you the longest, but even in that case, it wasn’t uncommon for Neo to wake up panting in a cold sweat over a fear she just couldn’t quite manage to recall. Still, shreds and scraps had stayed with her long enough to form images of the types of things that appeared before her in her nightmares. And they always hurt. Remembered or not, they found a way to leave their marks and their scars. Her fingernails had ensured that some of those scars were more of the literal kind. But she’d long since realized that it wasn’t the ones that left the scars that harmed her the most. No, she rarely remembered much of those at all, really. Scars were plentiful, in her line of work. In her style of life. They meant little, to her. Simply signs of past struggles and fights. In reality, it was not the scars that hurt the most. The wounds that scarred were a drop of blood in a sea of crimson. It was the ones that opened old scars back up, that hurt the most. Those were the ones that stuck with you more than the rest. Those were the darkest of memories, the baddest of dreams, the nightest of nightmares.

But it’s just as it was said— Neo had gotten used to that.

She woke up in the snow, a stinging feeling reverberating through the fibers of her skin and the tendons between her bones and her muscles. As she climbed to her feet, beneath the pale noon sky, her limbs seemed to creak and whine. They felt like stone, heavy and stiff; her right arm especially seemed to hang weakly at her side. Concentrating, she was eventually able to flex the fingers in her arm. Slowly but sure, some movement returned. Stiff movement, but movement none the less. That was good. Some flexibility coming back on its own meant that the rest would come back on its own, sooner or later. Hopefully. Either way, she huffed and took a deep breath. She felt a dizziness in her head, and she wheezed and coughed a couple of times as she tried to straighten herself out. The tree that was serving as a support for her began to seem less and less of a necessity, and sure enough, she found herself able to stand on her own once more. The stinging persisted. Especially in her gut. The lowest, deepest, and most cavernous part of her gut. Which, of course, meant that the stinging was most likely not entirely caused by the physical side of her situation.

It made Neo wonder what she’d been dreaming about.

Something bad, to be sure. But she shook it off and began to move finally. Once more, she was used to the bad. Even if things seemed to so often go from bad to worse. Maybe that’s why she was so used to it.

Some of the dizziness returned, again. The world didn’t quite spin, but it bounced. Like it was rocking up and down with her every step. Gravity didn’t seem to affect her normally, and in the pale white landscape it was though she was walking on the surface of the moon. She wondered what that would be like. Walking on the moon. What was up there? What was there, beyond all this? Beyond the binds of the planet, of Remnant? Was there something else, life, existence, anything at all? Or was there nothing? Were they truly alone in the world? Maybe the stars were eyes, staring down at her, from mysterious creatures beyond. Maybe the night sky was one grand Grimm, with millions of glowing white eyes that gazed over them hungrily, yearning for their flesh. Maybe there were other planets out there, paradises, not too warm yet not too cold, but just right. With gorgeous sprouting trees, green and brown, pink and white, yellow and gold. Not too tall and not too short, but just right. Free of Grimm, free of the people who would hurt you and hate you and fear you and run from you and abandon you. Not too crowded, but not too lonely. Just right.

Maybe she was still feeling some of the effects of whatever fumes she’d inhaled, from that Grimm.

She still wasn’t sure what that Grimm was. If it was even a Grimm, technically, but she felt like she was safe in assuming. Was it a common Grimm in Mistral, that she’d simply never heard of before? It could have been. But some inkling in her gut told her that it was probably something out of the ordinary. During times like these, the ordinary seems almost more unordinary than what’s ordinarily unordinary. If that makes any sense. Whatever.

Neo wobbled and hobbled her way through the snow, for a while, before she realized she didn’t exactly know where she was going. It was hard to get a bearing of where she was heading, anymore. Especially after last night. Or had that been longer than a night ago? Who knows, anymore. All she knew was that she needed to remember where she was trying to go. Because where was that, again? She had found the aftermath at that cabin in the woods, and then she headed out and… what? Was she trying to follow Yang? She hadn’t really thought it out, exactly. She was determined to get through, to survive, and to do what she needed to do, but… she wasn’t really sure what that was, at this point. What was her goal? To kill Cinder? To take her revenge? To… to kill Ruby? Was that still what she had to do? Or was she after Yang? Was she after… whatever Yang meant, to her? What was it, that she could as for from the blonde? What was there between them, since Yang had discovered the truth?

Forgiveness, my friends, was the word she was looking for it. But in truth, she barely even knew what that word meant. So it never really occurred in her mind.

There were flaws in both goals. But it was beginning to feel like she had to pick between one or the other. Like she wouldn’t be able to go after both. But if she’d been following Yang, well… was she even close? There hadn’t been any tracks leaving the house; the falling snow had ensured any and all footprints were long since buried. She had simply gone off in the direction that seemed most logical, after leaving the cabin. She’d been headed with a sort of aimless purpose, since she’d moved on from that place. Wherever she was going, by Dust, she was going to get there— but not even the stars could tell you where that actually was. So that was a bit of a predicament, she found herself in. Now to find her way out.

Snow had ceased to fall. She hadn’t realized when it happened, but she suddenly noticed that it hadn’t been snowing for a couple of days or so, now. Something tipped her off, although she didn’t immediately pick up on what that was. But she was there in the forest, underneath the clouded but snow-less sky, after what felt like ages of trudging through the hellish blizzard. That’s really what it was. Hell. For her money, if there was a hell, or an underworld, or some sort of purgatory, it wouldn’t be too different from this. A cold, freezing, icy, windy, snowy blizzard in the forest. Maybe minus the trees. And also probably a great few degrees colder, as well. But still. But it wasn’t snowing anymore. It almost seemed like it wasn’t as cold, anymore. Less windy, less frozen, maybe even a little less icy. These past couple of weeks had felt like an entire second winter, but right about now it was almost beginning to seem like this long and dreaded cold season was finally coming to a desperately awaited close. Like the heavens above were finally taking pity and showing a bit of sympathy towards the suffering earth and the forlorn sun. But maybe the light at the end of the tunnel was just another illusion.

Or maybe not.

Neo suddenly became acutely aware of the fact that she was standing still. Perfectly still, almost, staring down at the snowy ground beneath her. The snow had ceased to fall, and it showed. The boot prints before her proved as much. Boot prints that were not her own. And Neo was no hunter, but she knew a thing or two about tracking. She’d had to follow her fair share of footprints, during her time working with Roman. People leave different tracks, different prints. Heavier, lighter, smaller, bigger, graceful, dragging. Not to mention different kinds of shoes. There were two sets below her, which she was staring at. One was lighter, smaller, and seemed a bit more soft-footed. Somewhat like her own, although she didn’t recognize them precisely. The other was heavier, a bit larger than hers and the other, and a bit more trudging. 

That pair looked distinctly like Yang’s.

 

— — — 

 

The sound of jittering metal came whistling through the trees, the links of a chain clinking and shaking together in discordant unison. The onyx metal of the long trammels had pointed corners, matted a deep violet. The weapon at the end of the chain traveled quicker than the eye could perceive, but the sound of screaming sharpened metal was all too recognizable to experienced ears. It soared like a rocket at them, towards Weiss’ back, the long and shin chain leading back through the shadows towards the unseen assailant in the woods. Both of their ears caught notice, but Yang’s eyes were the first to catch a glimpse.

“Weiss!”

Yang reached for her. Weiss looked back, raising one leg and pushing off with the other. Twisting mid-air, she drew her weapon swiftly and in one clean motion deflected the curved-scythe head that had been attached to the approaching chain. It whipped back with a clang, then ripped backwards through the air as it headed back to where it came from. Weiss stayed readied in a combat stance, and Yang quickly followed suit. She spoke low and quiet, without bothering to look Weiss’ way.

“Now what—”

“Be careful,” Weiss interrupted her. “I heard a second one.”

“Yeah, I think I—” Yang felt her ear twitch.

The sound of flying chain resumed, but the source of it had shifted. A second one emerged from the trees quickly, from the opposite side of the boulder. It flew towards Yang, and she had just enough time to make out the similarities between this and the previous chain— and the differences. Same onyx black, but orange on the corners rather than the purple of the other one. The weapon on the end seemed different as well, but Yang didn’t have the chance to distinguish that part. She leaned in and threw out her right arm, her metal wrist knocking the chain to the side. But before it retreated, it came back from beside her to her wrist once more. The round hook at the end slid over her arm, pulling her forward and from her balance. She caught herself from falling with her free arm, yanking her arm out from under before the chain shot back to its owner like the one that had come before it.

“Who the hell—” 

She was interrupted again, but by a different voice this time. A girl’s voice, one that sounded deceptively mature— like the youth in her voice was still present, but some outside factors had made it sound an age beyond its years. Yang couldn’t tell if its owner was doing it on purpose, or not.

“Two little princesses, alone in the woods,” the girl called out from the trees. “Are they crazy, or just stupid, I wonder?”

“C’mon out,” Yang called back. “I’ll show you stupid.”

The girl clicked her tongue.

“Tsk, tsk,” she answered. “Did your mother never teach you to be nice?”

“What do you want—” Weiss began.

She was cut off by the purple chain returning, flying through the air straight at her. She deflected it with her rapier, and it flew upwards in the air. Just as it seemed to reach its apex, though, the sound of gunfire could be heard, at the hook changed direction. It launched downward at her again, with hardly enough time to react. Luckily for Weiss, Yang was faster than her this time around. She threw her arm out and snatched the chain just beneath the hook, using her gauntlet to pull it through the air and rip its owner from their hiding spot. A person, a girl about the size of Ruby, flew through the air. Like a black and violet blur, she ran across their heads and landed on her feet in the snow on the other side of Yang, staring at her and grinning.

“Nice catch, blondie,” Sable said through her smile.

“Who the hell are—”

Yang still had her fingers wrapped around the chain. Sable pumped her arm slightly, and there was a violet flash from her aura. It flickered, and a small portion of it seemed to crack. That same violet flash ran up the length of the chain like lightning, bursting on Yang’s hand and making her let go before it seared through her own aura. Weiss turned around, still behind Yang’s back. Yang looked down at her hand, then back up at the girl with the purple-tipped hair. Sable grinned.

“Oh, Opaaal,” she called out in a sing-song voice.

Out from the trees behind her, the same orange and black chain shot over her shoulder, just mere inches from her face. It whizzed past and flew straight towards Yang. She threw up her metal arm to deflect the impact, but another gunshot rang up. The curved hook launched upwards, over Yang’s head and passed her by. In front of her, Sable grabbed the chain and yanked it downwards. Yang rolled out of the way of the chain, but then her eyes widened. 

“Weiss!”

The hook came backward, catching Weiss by the shoulder and hurling her forwards. Sable leaped from the ground, meeting Weiss midair and greeting her with a knee to the gut. She tumbled off to the side. The second attacker emerged from the trees, jumping out and landing in the clearing. 

Opal glanced at her older sister, who nodded to the fuming Yang on the other side of the clearing. 

“You got her?”

“Sure,” Opal nodded, turning to run to the blonde.

“Hey,” Sable called before Opal could turn completely. “You sure?”

“I’m fine!” Opal smiled and shook her head, dashing towards Yang.

Yang stood up straight, getting her first look at the other party. She looked virtually identical to the other girl, only replace everything purple with orange. Her face did seem softer than the first girl’s, somehow, but that was something intangible. Other than that, there was a faintly visible along her right cheek. A thin scar, it came down from where her ear presumably hid beneath her hair, to nearly her lip. 

“So you’re new,” Opal said with a smile.

“Who the hell are you?” Yang spat.

“I’m Opal,” she said, then nodded to the purple girl. “And that’s my sister Sable. Twins, if you couldn’t tell. What about you?”

Yang stared at her, brow furrowed.

“That’s not really what I meant,” she said after a second.

“Oh,” Opal looked at her blankly for a moment, until her eyes widened in realization and she nodded wide. “Oooh, you meant like, what do we want and stuff like that.”

“No shit,” Yang clenched her teeth and her fists.

“Well—”

“Opal!” Sable’s voice rang out from the other side of the field. 

“Oh, right,” Opal said.

Suddenly, her chained hook was flailing through the air again, lashing at Yang repeatedly, so fast she could hardly keep up with it. Each time she blocked it sent a reverberation through her aura, denting it slightly even if she deflected with her metal arm. She couldn’t keep this up forever, but her attacker didn’t seem to be having the same such issue.

Meanwhile, Weiss was on her back foot against her attacker as well. She took two steps backward, then twisted to the side as Sable’s chain sailed by her neck. 

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” Sable said with a grin. 

Weiss bit her tongue and kicked off from the ground, creating some space between herself and the weapon. Locking some dust into place in Myrtenaster’s cylinder, she swung her sword and sent an arching wave of ice towards Sable. It shot towards her, and she slid underneath it before launching herself into the air again. Her scythe-headed chain spun through the air, slashing at Weiss repeatedly. She deflected a few, then summoned a knight’s sword arm to deflect the rest. Beneath herself, she placed a glyph. Clicking and ticking, the hands of time spun up along the snow beneath her, and she felt an energy flow through her. Sable landed on the ground and lunged, trying to give no time to breathe. Another flash of purple flared from her aura, and the same cracks appeared once more for a moment. It rolled to the end of her weapon and formed as a violet orb on the tip of the blade. This time she whipped her chain and it launched straight at Weiss. Just before it made contact, the heiress’ eyes snapped open and she slashed the orb in two. Purple sparks shot off in either direction, and Sable launched through between them. She let out a vicious barrage of strikes, but Weiss blocked each one and then some. Sable stepped back for a moment, and Weiss threw herself forward with the last ounce of the time dilation. The tip of her sword sailed just past Sable’s nose, but before she could retaliate Weiss summoned a metal fist beside herself that launched towards the girl’s gut. Sable raised her feet and kicked off the glowing white knuckles, flying backward and rolling to land.

At the same time, Yang had been just barely keeping pace with Opal’s own relentless assault. Feeling heat growing inside, Yang detected a slow in the orange girl’s attack. A heavier wind up came in the next swipe, and Yang leaned into it. The strike was mostly absorbed from her right side, and the remainder of the damage sent flames coursing through Yang’s veins. She stepped forward, letting the chain wrap around her arm and using it to keep the girl from backing off. Putting a stop to her onslaught, Yang threw a flaming punch that crashed into Opal’s face head-on. She flew backward, rolling and landing on her hands and knees right in front of Sable. Staring at each other face to face, they both found themselves panting a tad. Sable brushed a lock of Opal’s hair out of her face.

“You good?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Opal said through breaths. “I’m alright, just— a bit rusty, I guess.”

“Hey,” Sable nodded to her. “Semblance, remember?”

“Oh, yeah, uh,” Opal answered. “Right, yeah.”

“Good,” Sable said. “Back to it.”

They both twisted around and launched themselves back at their opponents. Sable came at Weiss again, this time with a renewed determination. She played her weapon closer to herself now, seemingly, keeping the handle end wrapped up slightly. She quickly came at Weiss with quick, short strikes, giving the white-haired girl very little time between strikes. Without enough time to set up time dilation again, Weiss was forced to rely on her own dexterity and common glyphs to keep her quick on her feet. As the strikes came, one after another, another flash began to grow over Sable’s body. The glow seemed mostly focused in her left fist, clenched around the handle of her weapon. That arm was bare and uncovered for the most part, and there was a long serpent-like tattoo there that seem to radiate slightly. A similar tattoo was on Opal’s bare right arm, although it looked more like a thin Eastern dragon with whiskers. It also happened to be glowing right now.

Yang attacked Opal aggressively, trying to give her no time to recoup or recover. Still, the orange and black-haired girl didn’t seem too far out of her depth. She blocked and avoided strikes repeatedly, doing a good job of keeping the brawler an arm’s length away at all times. Her tattoo began to glow, and her own aura flashed. Unlike her sister’s, though, there were no cracks. A black and orange orb began to form over her fist, and she stepped back just before letting go of the handle and shooting her now-free right hand forward. A quick jab came at Yang, who blocked the strike quickly. However, she felt her aura pulse on her arm right where she’d been struck. Opal jumped backward, rolling away, and her aura shined bright orange. Energy flowed through her, and she stood up straight with a new rejuvenation visible in her. Meanwhile, Yang felt her own aura weaken a fair bit. Opal smiled almost childishly, and Yang blew hot steam.

Several large, wide cracks appeared in Sable’s aura. The glow within her knuckles grew brighter, and for a moment she let go of the handle of her own weapon. She threw a bright, large purple orb up from her free left hand, then caught her grip again. Spinning through the air, she kicked the purple glowing orb at Weiss, sending sparks in every direction. Dust clicked into place in Weiss’ hilt again, and she sent out a large zephyr of wind towards the incoming projectile. It tore straight through the pulse of wind, though, and kept hurtling towards Weiss. She had just enough time to get her sword up in front of it before it hit her, but it exploded and sent her tumbling backward anyway. Yang’s head went up on the other side of the clearing and she dashed passed Opal.

“Weiss!”

Sable through up her hand, spreading her fingers. 

“Opal!”

“What? Oh, yeah!” Opal responded.

Opal threw her hooked end towards her sister while Sable was running in her direction. Sable caught it swiftly, and then continued to run passed her for a moment. Then Opal wound up and yanked forwards, pulling the trigger and sending another gunshot ringing out from the bladed side. It pulled forward, ripping Sable from the ground and sending her shooting like a bullet towards Yang. Weiss looked up at just the right moment.

“Yang!”

Yang looked back, then spun around in time to see Sable flying at her at light-speed. She came like a missile, and Yang ducked underneath just in time. When Sable passed by over her head, she threw out her own sickle-bladed weapon at Yang. This time, though, Yang shot her arm up in time to catch it. She pulled her arm back, waiting for Sable to reach her full distance away.

“Weiss!”

“Already on it!” 

On it she was. Pointing her rapier, several black glyphs formed around Yang’s arm. They locked and pulled back, spring-loading Yang’s metal arm. Then, just when the chain became taut between the two of them, Yang fired her gauntlet and used the recoil to yank her arm back faster. Suddenly, Sable was sailing straight towards her once more. But now, Yang let the fury inside shoot flames into the sky and send all its strength into her arm. Launching it forward suddenly, using the glyphs to boost the velocity of her fist, her metal knuckles made a resounding impact with Sable just as she reached her. The purple sister was sent blasting through the air yet again, crashing into a tree this time and dropping her on her butt to the snow-caked ground.

“Sable!” Opal’s voice called out, a scared panic audible in her shrill cry.

She began to dash forward, and Yang got into a fighting stance right in front of Weiss.

“You all good?”

“Yeah,” Weiss said, getting back to her feet. “I’m alright.”

“Good,” Yang nodded, waiting for the other sister to finish her charge. “Thanks for the assist.”

“You’re very welcome,” Weiss nodded.

Opal kept rushing, growing nearer by the second. As she was just about to get within her chain’s striking distance, Sable’s voice shouted out.

“Opal!”

Opal came to a grinding halt. Weiss looked back, seeing Sable rise to her feet slowly. Her aura was sparking, slightly, but it still appeared to be intact. If only barely. Spinning her weapon, she swung it around and wrapped it around her bare left arm, gripping the hook in her left hand. The pointed corners and sides of the chain-links dug into her arm, making her aura spark even more on that arm. Sable stared at Opal, nodding slowly. Opal looked at her for a moment, then inhaled. Her eyes shone as though there was some sort of remembrance within them. Then, after a moment, she mimicked her sister’s action. The orange sharp edges of her own chain dug into her right arm, making orange light flare up over her skin. The orange tattoo on her arm glowed brighter, and the violet one on Sable’s did the same.

“Strength from Pain,” Opal said, with a slight shake in her voice. 

Heat grew around her, radiating towards them and Sable on the other side. The snow glittered silently beneath them below the sky’s pale glow, and the trees appeared to tremble slightly. The pines quivered, emerald needles shaking and shuddering enough to fill their ears with a soft rustling sound like wind. But it was windless, and instead the air filled up with an electricity that made their hair stands on end. A magnetism emanated from Opal in front of them, and then it seemed to emanate from Sable behind them, as well. They were trapped there in the middle, stuck between the pull of the two forces, watching as the static grew in the atmosphere surrounding them. 

Sable began to speak in response.

“And Pain, from—”

“Enough!”

A commanding, firm voice called out from above. A heavy wind pushed them all slightly, its source being the blade of crimson energy that had slashed through the air in between Weiss and Sable. It shot passed them until it hit a tree, slicing its base vertically before fade and dissolving into the air. The energy had come directly from the figure standing on top of the boulder on the near side of the clearing, as they slowly sheathed their long, curved, deep red blade. The bone-white mask that covered her face somehow appeared whiter than the very snow that swallowed the earth around them. Yang stared at her, a sharp and hot breath being sucked from her lungs quickly. Sable and Opal stood up straight, swallowing hard. Weiss glanced at Yang, then looked up at the woman with a cocked eyebrow.

“I didn’t know you’d befriended a  _ Schnee, _ ” the woman said, a quiet bitterness when the name left her mouth. “How adorable.”

“We found these two—” Sable began quickly.

“Quiet,” the woman said flatly.

Sable swallowed again. Opal looked at her sister, then at the woman again.

“Raven, we just—”

“I said quietly,” she simply repeated.

Weiss looked at her, eyes widening slightly, then at Yang again.

_ “That’s  _ her?” She said.  _ “That’s  _ Raven?”

“Indeed it is,” Raven nodded.

Sable and Opal both glanced at one another, then stared at Weiss. Gradually, their gaze shifted to Yang. All eyes rested on her, four pairs of two, stormy violet, molten orange, icy blue, and deep red hidden behind thin black sits. And her own, quickly faded from bright red to soft lavender, stared up at the woman she had yearned so long to see throughout her whole life. And this was it.

“H-hey,” Yang said, after a long moment of silence. “Mom.”


	25. Convinced Minds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally got around to finishing the next chapter, after what felt like forever to me. Stalled on this one way too much, I think. Whatever. Enjoy, of course- and as always, I'd love to hear if you did!

**XXV**

**_Convinced Minds_ **

— — — 

_ “Faith: ‘that which enables us to believe things _

_ which we know to be untrue.’” _

— — —

The dimly illuminated balcony, lit only by the bleeding edge of the setting sun, rested in silent solitude from the rest of the building. Not quite a palace, but perhaps a few rungs higher on the ladder than a mansion, the White Fang headquarters lied on the outskirts of Mistral. The natural protection of the mountains and hills made it safe, both from flocking Grimm and the onslaught of any armies of man. Its gray stone walls were draped by red and scarlet, the familiar symbol of the organization generously littered across the various flags and banners that stood or hung across the face of it. Jade grass swayed lightly in the wind, damp from melted snow, the few and far between trees standing lonesome beneath the ever-darkening canopy of the sky above. And standing at the edge of the balcony, his hands on the rail as he leaned forward, staring across the sweeping landscape before him, was an immense tank of a man. He was built like the mountains surrounding them, and the long hairs on his bare arms fluttered slightly like the grass below. Through every inch of the grand building, he stood on his own as the only human present. Or at least, the only human not in chains.

He stared at the sun as it slowly shrank, waiting for it to finally disappear beyond the horizon and leave him alone in the blessed privacy of night. But, as luck would have it, privacy would evade him. As it always seemed to.

The approaching noise was near-silent, but he’d spent enough time with it to recognize it.

“Tyrion,” Hazel said in his deep, gravelly voice, shutting his eyes and sighing.

Out from the shadows, covered in a dark evergreen cloak, stepped the man— most would call him a lunatic, but Hazel had the sense to realize that lunacy was a relative term. He’d seen too much of this world to think otherwise. Turning partway, one hand still on the rail, Hazel faced Tyrion.

“I thought you’d gone sniveling back to Salem,” Hazel said flatly.

He glanced downwards, towards the bottom of Tyrion’s cloak. There was nothing swaying visibly beneath it. 

“Dearest Hazel, my situation is nothing to worry about,” he said, his pale white smile hidden in the shade of his hood. “My failure does not entirely expunge my usefulness to our queen.”

Hazel stared at him for a moment, then looked back out towards the dimming skyline.

“I’m sure,” he said.

“Mr. Watts will fix me right up, soon enough,” Tyrion continued at no particular prompt. “But nevertheless, there are other things I must—”

“Just get on with it,” Hazel interrupted.

Tyrion put a hand to his chest— despite not being looked at by the larger man. He feigned offense; Hazel could hear his mock pain in his voice.

“Oh, you hurt me so,” Tyrion said. “Do you not enjoy my company, dearest Hazel?”

“No,” Hazel didn’t hesitate.

He turned again, facing Tyrion once more.

“What do you want?”

“It’s not what I want, no,” Tyrion shook his head. “It’s about what our queen wants.”

Hazel seemed to roll his eyes without them ever moving.

“And what does our  _ queen  _ want?”

“Oh, nothing too cumbersome,” Tyrion answered. “Simply an… update, if you will. About the status of our little  _ partnership.” _

“I’m sure she already knows,” Hazel said. “She watches everything, doesn’t she?”

“Still,” Tyrion smiled. “She wants to hear what you have to say about it all.”

Hazel stared for another moment again, then sighed and looked down as he shook his head.

“The Taurus boy’s coup of Sienna Khan was successful,” he said finally. “He’s officially in control of the White Fang’s largest branch, in addition to the one in Vale. He’ll continue to rally the other branches and attempt to totally unify them under his order.”

Tyrion laughed a giggling, almost childishly gleeful laugh. 

“I am happy to hear that he can be contented with such a trivial prize,” he said as his laughter faded.

Hazel shook his head.

“I don’t know that he’s content yet,” he said. “He talks grandiosely about his goals, but the truth is I don’t think he’ll ever feel content. Not unless he has the girl.”

“And to which girl do you refer,” Tyrion stepped forward, his bone-white teeth glinting in the last glow of the receding sun. “The little black kitten, or our fair blonde maiden?”

Hazel paused for a moment.

“…Both,” he said after a while.

“How selfish,” Tyrion tilted his head and mock frowned. “Does he not know that there are only so many beautiful fish in the sea?”

“He wants to finish his business with the blonde, first,” Hazel went on, ignoring Tyrion’s comments. “Then he has his sights set on the Faunus girl again.”

“And why this sudden obsession with the new girl, hmm? Was the kitten not enough for him?”

“He seems to believe she’s wronged him, in some way,” Hazel said, shaking his head again. “I don’t bother to understand further than that.”

“I see,” Tyrion said, pausing and staring towards the sky for a moment.

The night had conquered the sun, and the piercing white stars were beginning to beam down upon them. Then Tyrion smiled again and looked down at Hazel. 

“Well, I believe that will please her majesty,” he said. “And what of our other friend? Where is dear Barlow?”

“He is dealing with some business in Mistral,” he answered. “Setting the seeds for the coming conflict, or something to that effect.”

“Very well,” Tyrion said. “Await further instructions from our queen. Our little pawns are growing nearer to their destination. When they finally arrive, you must be ready.”

“I’m always ready,” Hazel said, turning away once again. “I won’t fail, not like you did.”

Tyrion didn’t respond, and Hazel could nearly hear the grinding of his teeth.

“I suppose you and Cinder share more in common, now,” Hazel went on. “You both have a bone to pick with that little red girl, don’t you?”

Tyrion was silent for a moment longer, and then he could be heard inhaling heavily. When he spoke, what little composure he had seemed to have returned.

“Perhaps,” he said. “But I try not to convince myself with petty, selfish dealings like grudges.”

Then he chuckled maniacally.

“And I suppose you’ll have a chance at your revenge against Ozpin, soon enough, won’t you?”

Hazel bit his tongue. The name made his blood boil. He could feel his hairs standing on end, and it felt as though there was black sludge-like bile in his stomach.

“Well, I’ll be seeing you again soon, dear Hazel. Until then,” Tyrion sneered. “Have fun…”

Hazel turned slowly. When he looked back, the balcony was empty, devoid of any other parties. Tyrion was gone, scurried off to who knows where, and silence returned. There was a faint loud cry of pain from inside the fortress, loud enough to be heard from outside. It could have been a prisoner, tortured by their White Fang captors. That was the logical response, the most likely reality. But that wasn’t Hazel’s first thought. No, his first instinct was to think that Tyrion was responsible. And who knows. Maybe he’s right.

At least he had his privacy, finally.

 

— — — 

 

Long ago had Neo learned that hunger was the ruler of all things wild. It didn’t matter who you were, where you were, when you were, or what you were doing. If you lived, you ate. And if you ate, you lived. You could push for your goals, try to reach what you strove for, fight for what mattered to you most, but so long as you walked the planet, hunger would dominate. It would push your other desires off, it would stall you and force you to postpone the things you wanted to do. Hunger always came first. It didn’t even matter what you were. The Grimm ate, even if it didn’t even seem like they needed to. Everything ate. If it moved, if it breathed, if it did anything at all— it would fight to its last breath when it needed to eat. It would die to eat. And it would eat even if it was already dead. 

Hunger was different from every other thing you could need, in Neo’s experience. Hunger wasn’t like thirst. Short of the most dramatic situations, you would always find something to drink. Cities had fountains, both meant for drinking and not meant for drinking. But they were drinkable either way. There were sinks, rain, puddles, ponds, drainage. Your own urine, if there was no other choice at that particular moment. People could drink from all the strangest places, if they really needed to. Roman had told her a story, once, of a man who drank from a toilet. She’d seen another person drinking sewage water, once. Hell, she’d found water in her own odd places before, herself. Right now, she could let snow melt in her mouth and drink the water that resulted, if she started to feel thirsty. Ironically, the only place she could think of off the top of her head where it would be next to impossible to find water to drink would be at sea. That, and, she supposed, deserts. But she was never she if that was an exaggeration or not, since she didn’t have much in the way of experiences with deserts. But she was speaking on her own experiences, here, after all. So perhaps those other situations didn’t matter so much, at least to her.

Food, though. Food was different. Food could be a challenge to come by. There were plenty of times when there was nothing to eat. She could think of many times that she’d gone hungry. And when you go hungry— you begin to know hunger. You begin to know it on a personal, intimate level. You know it in, out, left, right, upside down. It ceases to be trivial, and it becomes real. Very, very real. Knowing hunger, knowing what it is to be hungry— it’s to know what it is to be cornered, on the verge of life as you understand it as a rational, thinking human being. It’s to know where the edge of humanity ends and begins to fade and blur the lines between human and animal. And when you know the feral side of hunger, you begin to value your food a lot more.  _ A lot more.  _ More than you value all the minor and peripheral things around you, more than you value most things in this world. Maybe more than you value your own life, even. Maybe.

Neo had been hungry plenty of times in her life. To put it simply, she’d spent more time in her life hungry than satiated. And she’d probably spent more time in her life starving than halfway full. At the very least, it was enough to be close. And she knew hunger well enough to know when the edge was approaching. She knew she was close; she knew she was going to have to eat sooner rather than later. That much was clear to her. And she knew that, as much as she needed to keep sniffing out the tracks, to keep following the path that was leading her to her destination, she was going to have to eat if she wanted to make it to the end. No use in finding your goal if you die before you even make it there, was there? So she would have to eat if she wanted to stay focused. Even if that meant taking her focus away, for the moment. She would have to just hope that the trail won’t have faded before she gets back on the road.

This is why Neo was squatting there, crouched down low in the bushes, staring into the tiny little settlement that she found a couple of short miles off from the tracks that she’d been following. She was trying to get the lay of the land, to figure out how… inhabited, this little town was. And little may have been an understatement. It was hardly six houses, plus a small motel and a gas station by the edge of the town. She supposed that meant there was a road nearby, but she couldn’t tell. The snow would have layered it on thick overtop, to be fair, but she could tell it must be a small road. There was hardly a gap enough in the trees for much of a road to be passing by. The town also seemed to have hardly any sort of fortification or protection from the inevitable Grimm attacks. The small size of the town would serve as a natural defense mechanism; smaller communities were less prone to the severe panics that would summon the mass hordes. But regardless, it would be unwise to set up shop without any sort of defense whatsoever. Lone Grimm had the tendency to wander, and there was little anyone who was untrained could do to defend themselves from even one or two of the beasts. Which meant that someone here was probably trained to fight. Neo would have to be on the lookout for them.

So far, Neo had seen much activity at all. One man, bundled up tight in winter gear, had come out of one house and trudged his way to another, but other than that she’d yet to see any other residents. She figured it couldn’t be completely inactive, though. Multiple houses had lights on in the windows, and she could even make out smoke rising from the chimneys of one or two of them. But how many people were there? And how many of them were skilled enough to fight? She didn’t expect she could so much waltz on it, ask for food, and be on her way. Things were always more complex than that. Things were always more dangerous than that. Hunger was never so easily resolved. So, despite her grumbling belly, she would have to wait and stake out a bit longer. The cold had yet to relent, and it would only get worse as the sun set. But she thought she’d have better luck in finding her opening in the darkness, anyway. That was the way things mostly worked out, in her experience.

Once night had fallen, Neo made her approach. One silent, nimble step at a time, she closed in on the small settlement and crept around the backs of the houses. Faint, muffled voices came through certain walls of some of the buildings, but for the most part, she was swathed by silence in the still, cold air. Careful not to avoid any of the particularly crunchy patches of snow on the ground, she snuck between the gaps and alleys between each building and made her way towards the center of the town. After a quick scanning of the area, she decided to head straight for the gas station beside the motel at the edge of the town. It seemed the least likely to be inhabited, and the most likely to contain easily accessible food. All she would have to do is hope that she could get inside without making a racket. Breaking through glass would never be ideal, and sometimes places like these were set up with security alarms. At least in her experience. 

There were one or two vehicles parked in gas station lot, but the heavy snowfall from the days prior had buried them even beneath the station’s top canopy. Slipping between the pumps, she reached the front door. A single glass push door marked the entrance, and there was a small spot where the snow had obvious been shoved and cleared away so that the door would open. With a single, light shove, the door swung inward. The hinges creaked slightly, and the worn-down metal seemed to drag over the small black entrance mat, but at least it locked. Just as she stepped inside, she heard a high pitched jingling over her head. She looked up, and in a blink, she flicked her parasol upwards and into the inside of the bell that rang when the door opened. Stepping back slowly, she carefully kept the chime still while pushing the door back shut gently. When she was sure it wouldn’t ring, she slid her weapon back down and slipped it back into her belt. She was inside.

She began to look around quickly. The station store was run down and old, but it still had signs of use. It wasn’t cobwebbed up or filled with dust and filth. It certainly wasn’t the cleanest, but most of the grime seemed to be hiding behind shelves and under counters. The racks that ran through the small store were mostly empty, other than a few cans and boxes tipped on their sides every now and again, but they didn’t appear abandoned. The fridges looked like they were still running, although the things inside of them were rather sparsely located. Neo walked among the aisles, looking for anything she could scavenge or salvage. She was careful to remain silent despite the lack of any clear signs of company; it was better to be safe than sorry, and she’d yet to be certain that the only presence there was hers. A can of peaches had remained unclaimed on one of the shelves, so she swiped it for herself and cracked it open with the tip of her weapon. As she searched the rest of the station, she spotted a small hallway on one side. The floor felt as though it was humming lightly when she stepped into it. At the end of the hallway was a bathroom, but there were also two other doors on either wall, facing one another. Picking the one on the left first, she could feel the humming vibration increase as she grew nearer.

The door opened with a faint click, and she looked in through the gap before setting foot inside the room. It appeared to be some kind of storage room, or something of that sort. On the side of the room, visible through the gap was what appeared to be a generator, from what Neo could tell. A backup one, most likely. When she fully stepped inside the room, she could see the other side of the room that was behind the door. Stacked a couple of feet or so high, there was a large pile of various boxes and cans of food. A stash or reserve of food, it seemed. There were a few plastic containers of water bottles, as well, in one corner of the room. Taking one last glance around, Neo darted over to the piles of food and began to scrounge through for anything she could take. Smaller containers, things that would keep for a while, and things that would survive the cold or the wet— those were the things that she kept an eye out for. That, and anything that she had a particular taste for. There were a couple of candy bars that caught her attention, despite their nutritional value— or lack thereof— and she was able to get her hands on a single can of strawberry preserves that she would try to hang on to, for a while.

Regardless of what she found and what she took, though, she found enough food to get by at least for a little while. She had been staving off her hunger before with what little supplies she had left from the start of her journey, as well as any few things that she’d collected along the way. But if anything was obvious to her, by now, it was that she didn’t have enough food for her to hold out much longer. Especially after the many setbacks she’d run into. But now, she had a fresh pile right in front of her. Or maybe not fresh, but fresher than stale. Fresher than inedible. And that was fresh enough. 

As she searched through the pile, though, she made one single mistake. One little, tiny, puny, fatal mistake, that she hadn’t made in a long,  _ long,  _ time. She barely, hardly, if only for half a second, almost didn’t even at all, let her guard down. But if her life had taught her anything, it was that  _ at all  _ was plenty enough time when compared to not.

“‘Scuse you,” a woman’s voice, stern and cool, spoke from behind her. 

Neo swung around in an instant, feeling her instincts kick in and take over. All of the foodstuffs she had picked up tumbled out of her hands and onto the floor. Staring back at her was a calm, tall woman, perhaps at the tail end of being a young woman, holding a pistol that was aimed directly at Neo. Skin lightly brown, short charcoal hair that hardly fell past her neck, dressed in dark gray pants and a thick brown jacket, her sharp eyes were locked on Neo. Her other hand hung with its thumb hooked on her belt, directly next to another similar caliber but slightly different in appearance pistol than was holstered at her hip. Even through the jacket and pants, Neo could make out the firm muscle definition that the woman wore. There was a certain light-footedness to the way she stood, Neo thought, like someone who carried weight and strength expected from a brute, with finesse and a softness oft seen in a thief. And it only made her all the more threatening. 

The woman tilted her head slightly, looking past Neo. Then she straightened her neck again, locking eyes with her once more.

“You’re stealin’ from us, I see,” the woman said. “You just a thief passin’ through, huh?”

Neo grit her teeth. This was the exact type of situation she had desperately hoped to avoid. And the exact type she should’ve expected to end up in. This is always what happened, after all.

“Yeah, guess you gotta eat,” the woman went on. “Lotta people here need to eat, too, yeah? Better when you don’t steal from ‘em.”

Neo growled. She tried to reach for her weapon, slowly.

“No,” the woman drew her other pistol, aiming it towards Neo’s hip where her weapon was. “Not much a talker, are you?”

Neo stopped moving her hand, but didn’t retract it. She stared down the woman, baring her teeth. She was going to have to fight her way out of this most likely.

“Yeah, guess not,” she said. “Not much talkin’ to do out there, is there?”

Then she sighed.

“Y’know,” she went on. “You could always try askin’ first.”

And then she holstered both her guns.

Neo stared at her, and one of her eyes twitched. The confusion in her expression was probably evident, but the woman didn’t pay it any mind. She walked forward, towards Neo. Neo dropped her hand to the handle of her weapon, staying low and hissing slightly. The gunslinger only glanced at her, and just walked past her. She bent down and picked up the jar of strawberry preserves. 

“Strawberries, huh?” She said, shaking her head. “Thought we were out of these.”

Then she tossed it, side-armed, to Neo. She caught it with her free arm, staring at the woman as she stared and began to walk towards the hallway. 

“Look awful young to be all on your own,” the woman said as she walked.

The other door on the other side of the hallway was open, and Neo could just barely see a cot sitting with a single blanket and pillow on top of it. The woman turned to walk down the hallway, then threw a glance back at Neo.

“C’mon,” she said, nodding towards the exit. “Just don’t take more than what you need.”

Neo didn’t even realize that her mouth had fallen slightly agape. She stared after the woman as she disappeared behind into the hallway. Finally, Neo was able to snap from her trance. She grabbed a few of the things she’d collected before, then darted after the woman, careful to keep a short distance between the two of them. The woman was heading for the doorway, and she glanced back again.

“I’m sure Mrs. Bacch is up, right now,” she said, then kept walking. “All need our sleep, and still we find a way to not get it…”

Neo kept following her, her eyes still tracking the woman ahead of her carefully. It seemed like she was being led to the motel just beside the gas station. She was still trying to keep any escape route or vulnerability within her sights, but she struggled to focus on anything other than the befuddled thoughts that were clearly displayed on her face.

“Name’s Harley, by the way,” the woman said without turning. “Harley Cherry. Most people call me Cher, even though I tell ‘em not to. Guess you’ll call me that too, now.”

She shook her head.

“Or somethin’,” she went on. “I don’t know. And you are…”

Neo, unsurprisingly, did not answer. 

“Yeah,” Harley said after a moment. “I’m not much for introductions either, personally.”

She sighed and stopped as she reached the doorway into the front of the motel. Wrapping her fingers around the knob, she looked back at Neo before opening it. She stared at her for a moment, as if looking her over.

“You’re tired, aren’t you? Mrs. Bacch’ll have a room, plenty of vacancies these days,” she said, then gestured at the nighttime winter landscape. “Not many customers to be had, so…”

Then she shook her head once more, and pulled open the door. She held it open for Neo, waiting for her to step inside. When Neo didn’t move, Harley gestured to the doorway.

“Well go on,” she said. “I’m not lookin’ to stay up holdin’ a door all night.”

Neo still didn’t move, and so Harley rolled her eyes and shut the door.

“Look,” she said. “I get it. Really, I do. I’m sure you got your whole lonewolf thing, with your whole lonewolf business to deal with, and I’m sure you’re in a real hurry to get too dealin’ with it. But lemme tell you, just in case you haven’t noticed, it really is not lookin’ like the type of time you wanna be walking through the forest, in the snow, at night, on your own, hungry and tired. You follow?”

Neo didn’t respond. As per usual.

“Some fucked up Grimm been runnin’ around here, lately,” she said. “And a lot of ‘em. Mostly at night. And it certainly isn’t warmer in the dark than it is in the sun. So unless you  _ really  _ got such a big death wish, I’d say stayin’ here a night or two is just about your only option.”

She pulled the door open again.

“But hey,” she added. “What do I know, right? I’ve only been alive for like twice as long as you or somethin’, right?”

Neo glared at her. But, as much as she hated to admit it, she was exhausted. It was getting tiring, walking all day. Other than her encounter with that Grimm that had left her unconscious, she couldn’t remember the last time she got more than three or maybe four hours at a time. And she was still hungry. It would be nice to be able to sit and eat it, rather than having to trudge along in the snow with a can and her fingers. Still… Neo still wasn’t exactly sure  _ what  _ was going on, right now. Who was this woman? Why was she helping her? Why was she being so…  _ nice?  _ Or maybe nice wasn't the right word; she did seem to have a bit of an attitude. But if she wasn’t being nice, then she was being something pretty damn close to it. And Neo just didn’t know how to feel about that.

Well…

Maybe there’s a first time for everything.

 

— — — 

 

Neo laid awake in the motel room bed, beneath the pale yellow comforter and the white linen sheets, staring at the empty can of beans sitting on the bedside table. The bed was smooth, warm. Its cushioned mattress may not have been any specially made or crafted variety; it was actually a rather cheap and low-quality feeling bed. Still, it was certainly softer than anything she could recall sleeping on in a long time. Compared to the snow-coated grass and dirt outside, it was silken. It may as well have been velvet. It almost felt like it enveloped her, as though it were a cloud which she rested on.

It was too soft.

She practically felt like she would sink into it as she slept, falling deeper and deeper into as her slumber drowned on, until she was awoken in the pitch-black depths of pillows and blankets where she would be trapped forever. Or maybe she wouldn’t wake up at all, suffocated and smothered in her sleep like an unwanted child. And perhaps it was a sort of paranoia at play, but she couldn’t shake the feeling— the fear— that this was the intention of the bed. That this was an invention of terrible design, a trap of cruel machination that would suck her inwards, strangling her for the predators that hunted her, stalking her with hungering eyes. Eyes that wouldn’t even watch her as she slipped from the bonds of life and drifted off into an eternal slumber. And that was the boon of a trap such as this, it seemed. That function of the trap didn’t need to be witnessed by the trapper for its efficacy to be at its peak. The rope would coil, the net would fall, and the metal jaws would clamp shut on your ankles, and the one who hunted you wouldn’t have to put themselves anywhere near the way of harm.

Neo climbed out of bed and to the floor. She laid down on the hard, thin rug, pulling a single sheet down along with her. The draft that ran along the floor beneath the bed and over her sent a shiver through her, but on the floor she remained. 

Mrs. Bacch had seemed nice enough, based on the short interaction that they had had. A heavier woman, firm in the waist and meatier in the limbs, she carried herself with a sort of faux-commanding presence, as though she controlled the environment by the leisure of everyone else’s willingness rather than her own conviction. Still, Neo got a sense that the motel manager’s warmth was welcomed by most whom she met, and that the pleasure it gave them was enough for them to follow her almost motherly orders without a second thought. Not in Neo’s case, of course. The woman’s white dress with purple had a semi-regal quality to it, but she didn’t seem to have much in the way of royalty in her personality. Save for perhaps the apparent affinity for wine, at least going by the size of the bottle that had rested next to her glass on the counter when Neo had entered. Much more polite than that Harley woman, but that didn’t little to ease Neo’s nerves. And her seemingly overwhelming enthusiasm for welcoming her new, unexpected guest, as well as her insistent desire for Neo to walk away from the reception area with an extra blanket, had left Neo with expecting a much more homely kind of motel room rather than the insipid room she found herself laying in. But then maybe she wouldn’t have picked up on the cozy qualities of the room even if it was present, as a result of her ever-constant anxiousness about the situation.

Because perhaps there were other traps that utilized the human component. The psyche was a complex thing, after all. Humans could be tricked and convinced of this or that within minutes under the proper circumstances. Warm, welcoming greetings, openness, and practically overbearing kindness— these were not things that Neo supposed most people would suspect up first meeting someone mysterious or unknown. Doubly so when said person was caught stealing from the stores of what little food you may have left. Maybe, then, that was something that people desired on a fundamental level. Affectionate attention, maternal worry, loving care— would a dash here or there hurt to make someone partial to you? Neo supposed not, though she couldn’t be sure. But it stood to reason. This wasn’t a dash here or there, though. This was a heap of it, a thick and fat serving of it placed on your plate so much so that there was very nearly no other room for anything else. This wasn’t a seasoning, this was an entire meal. Even the initially threatening Harley, who clearly didn’t have much of a talent for tactful or chivalrous encounters, had treated Neo with an unsettling amount of respect and civility. 

If you really considered it, that made sense. Would anyone expect to be greeted as a thief with immediate compassion? No, even the most gullible of people would see that as an obvious trick. So you would begin with an immediate uncertainty and wariness. Only after further scrutiny— a fake probing that would result in an apparent approval— would you imply yourself to be a trustworthy and benevolent source of aid. Passing that, you could lay on the goodwill and altruism as much as you wanted, because then you would have established yourself as a simple good samaritan looking to aid and assist. That would pull your target into the thick embrace of trust, allowing them to fall into the warm clutch of your care and comfort. And finally, once the prey has dropped away their guard and let their obliviousness wash over them completely, they may strike.

Neo was not the type of person to so easily slacken her alertness. And she would not be here, either. Kindness was not a gift. It was a price. It would not be exchanged so freely. Not as liberally as this. And she would not get caught off-balance, out of her senses, with her belly to the air. Not this time. Not ever.

She didn’t do much sleeping on the floor, either.

 

— — — 

 

The camp had the opposite of a welcoming presence. From when the wooden pike gates loomed over them, to the half-stained thin canvas cots where they found themselves sitting in wait now, there had been nothing short of a cold shoulder around every corner that they turned. The smell of a burning pyre outside left Yang with no sort of summertime bonfire familiarity, as it normally may have. Although she couldn’t precisely predict if that was a result of the thickly overbearing stench of smoke, or if it was simply the spurning vibe she caught from every person and thing that she came across here. She wasn’t entirely sure of what she’d expected. A warm embrace from the woman who had left her at the crib? Doubtful. Even in Yang’s wildest dreams, she knew it was a silly fantasy. But this… this scornful gaze, this  _ contempt.  _ There was no other word she could think to describe it. Had she expected snubbed to a degree this extreme? Even the tall log walls didn’t have any type of protective quality to make her feel safer. At least the Grimm beyond would have been happy to see her. Reasons notwithstanding.

She hadn’t seen her mother— she hadn’t seen Raven— since they’d made it back to the encampment. The woman had hardly spoken to her on the way there, either. Actually, scratch that. She hadn’t spoken to her at all, since the very first interaction. Other than once, to say: 

“Be quiet and follow me.”

The two other girls— Opal and Sable she learned their names were, though she could still scarcely differentiate them— had done their part to separate Yang and Weiss from the Branwen woman. They had stood in between them as they walked, such that they could never get within more than a few feet of Raven. The purple one— Sable, Yang thought that one might’ve been— had shared a few choice words under her breath to the two of them, but otherwise the fight was over and the walk was rather uneventful. Weiss muttered things to Yang now and again, but she hardly found herself responding, and the presence of the other two dissuaded much of a conversation. Sable and Opal had done little to be more welcoming than anything else they would encounter here in the camp; the two apparent twins were not much for the red carpet of hospitality.

Actually, that may not have been entirely true. The orange one, Opal, seemed surprisingly friendly for someone that they had just been fighting with. She tried chatting idly with the two of them time and time again, even going so far as to poke them with curiosities like where they were coming from and who they were. And, of course, the ever-present bewilderment that Yang was somehow Raven’s daughter. Yang probably shouldn’t have been surprised that Raven had never mentioned her to them, but that didn’t make it sting any less to hear out loud. But when Yang finally willed herself to give brief but concise verbal confirmation, she did notice the orange sister take up a noticeable interest in herself. There was also a particularly notable moment when the purple sister had to be reminded by the other which, of Yang and Weiss, was the recently reveal daughter of Raven. Which was especially bizarre, not just because of the familiar resemblance, but also because the orange girl had repeated somewhere north of twenty times, it felt like. But oh well. Yang wasn’t one to judge ditzy forgetfulness.

Now, of course, she was sitting on that dreadfully hard cot, staring at the tent wall, waiting for gods know what. If even they knew. Weiss was on the cot adjacent to hers, looking at her while glancing around nervously at both entrances, as well as the third doorway where Raven and the two sisters had vanished into. The tent itself was large, and perhaps tent wasn’t necessarily the right word, but Yang didn’t know any other way to call it. There were a few long wooden tables set up through the center, their knotty and curved log structure flat at the top but rounded out at the bottom. The cots where they sat were off to the side of the room, and frankly didn’t seem as though they were meant for frequent use. Perhaps they were old beds turned into benches of some kind, although Yang didn’t really see why you would bother with that. Regardless, that was where they sat, and the red banisters and black canvas walls that stared back at them told her that this whole place was going to have that attitude, not just Raven. Not that she hadn’t already figured that out. 

Speaking of Yang. A lot had been running through her mind, all at once. What was going to happen next, what they were waiting for, what kind of place this was, who all the people they’d seen really were, when Raven would finally see her. Speak to her. But mostly… she wondered why. Why? Why now? Her whole life, she’d searched for her mother. For the woman who had birthed her. And her whole life, she’d struggled to make any real headway. Time and time again she had failed to find her. And now, what? Raven just… brought her to her home? What had stopped her from doing this a long time ago? If Raven was going to speak to her, why had she never done it before? Why now? All this time, Yang putting her own life at risk for what seemed like nothing— and others, even, although she made sure she wouldn’t do that again. But then, hadn’t she just done that right now? Weiss hadn’t just met these people, she’d been  _ captured  _ by them. They had taken her hostage, with plans to sell her off back to her family for some money. And now Weiss was back, in the middle of the people that she’d just ran from, all because Yang wanted her to take her there. Some friend she was, Yang guessed. Maybe she should’ve thought more about what would happen to Weiss, before dragging her into this.

And on the topic of Weiss, she’d tried to speak to Yang a few times now, but little more than nods and grunts as answers had discouraged her from pushing too much further. It didn’t seem like Yang was going to do much in the way of talking until she had less to think about. Whenever the fuck that would be.

Whatever this place really was, it felt like they’d hardly scratched the surface so far. At least to Yang, it did. Because this couldn’t just be some simple bandit group, going around raiding settlements and roving as a clan. Right? …Right? Could it be? Could that be all it was? Could that be all her mother was operating out here, in the wilderness of Anima? Was there something deeper here, something more complex? Something more meaningful, something more important? Some greater mission, some grand secret behind it all? Or… not. Just a group of thugs, stealing for their own survival, for their own gain and life beyond the walls of civilization. No, that wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. It wouldn’t be.

Yang had a lot of questions. Too many to keep track of. 

And yet, part of her didn’t even want to ask them. Part of her just wanted to look her mother in the eye, stare her down, and… and she didn’t know what, then. Tell her how much she missed her? Tell her how much she needed her? Curse her out for leaving? Demand an explanation behind her abandonment? Pull her into a hug and cry? What did she want? What did she expect from this? What did want to gain, what did this all mean to her? Would anything even change? She hardly knew anything anymore, it felt like. She had fought so long to find her mother, come so far down this path, that she almost couldn’t remember why she’d started down it to begin with. But it was to find her mother. To learn what, why, how— everything. To understand. Who the woman was, and why she’d done what she’d done. That was her reason. Right?

In the midst of her thoughts, the sound of flapping canvas pull her attention upwards. The doorway that Raven and the girls had gone through was pushed open, and the orange girl walked in. Her black pupils were wide and round, holding an almost childlike whimsicalness in them. They were puppy-like, and they reminded her of her own sister. The dark mystery in her face that seemed to twinkle beneath the dim torch glow was distant and enigmatic, but even still they seemed like they wouldn’t try and push you away. Like the secrets they held were to the bewilderment of everyone, their owner included— not just the person staring into them.

“She’ll see you now,” Opal said, a faint glint in her smile. “Come on.”

She nodded back to the doorway, gesturing for Yang to follow. Yang stood and began to approach her, slowly and almost unsteadily, though she did her best to obscure it from prying eyes. When Weiss stood along with her, Opal bit her tongue and put up her hand.

“Sorry, she said she wanted to see her only,” she said. “You have to wait outside. I’m sorry.”

Weiss looked at her, then to Yang. Yang finally seemed to pay attention to her, regarding her with a vague expression of concern. Yang opened her mouth, as if to protest— despite not having any words at her disposal.

Weiss didn’t even give Yang the chance to try.

“Just go,” she said. “I’m alright, go ahead.”

Yang stared, that worry still not leaving her eyes.

“Yang,” Weiss smiled gently. “I’m fine. And you will be too. Just go on.”

Yang looked at her for a moment longer. Then she swallowed and nodded. As she turned, Weiss inhaled heavily. It was a breath she would hold longer than she would expect to— longer than she would mean to. And Yang as well found herself short on breath, too— though perhaps they were for different reasons from one another. Stepping forward, she walked towards the entrance as Opal held it open for her. Right before reaching it, she stopped and seemed to hesitate.

“Go on,” Opal nodded after a moment, still wearing that smile. “She’s been waiting.”

Yang looked at her, swallowing her breath once more. Then she looked to that darkly lit room ahead, a quiet void waiting for her to step inside and be swallowed whole, and finally, she found the will to speak.

“So have I.”

And she plunged into the depths, at last.


End file.
